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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28413276">The Vampire King</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/montblanca/pseuds/montblanca'>montblanca</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(feeding as in drinking blood), Action &amp; Romance, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Original, Assassination, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassination Plot(s), Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Betrayal, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Character Death, Character Turned Into Vampire, Cultural Differences, Death, Decoy, Doctors &amp; Physicians, Dubcon Feeding, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Feeding, Forced Cohabitation, Forced Feeding, Forced Prostitution, Forced Relationship, Forced Sex Work, Historical, Historical Fantasy, Human Culture, Human Kingdom, Human Queen, Human/Vampire Relationship, I Love Labyrinth (1986), Ideology, Inspired by Labyrinth (1986), Jareth the Goblin King, King - Freeform, Kings &amp; Queens, Ladies-in-waiting - Freeform, Lady-in-waiting, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Romance, Lesbian Vampires, Marriage Proposal, Mild Kink, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Murder, My First Smut, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Original Fiction, Original Universe, Political Alliances, Political Betrayal, Political tension, Politics, Post-War, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Pretending to be the queen, Queen - Freeform, Queen's decoy, Royalty, Same-Sex Marriage, Sex Work, Slut Shaming, Tension, Torture, Vampire Bites, Vampire Chronicles, Vampire Culture, Vampire King, Vampires, War, Women In Power, Women in the Military, Work In Progress, courtesan - Freeform, feeding as a euphemism/innuendo, semi-inspired by Anne Rice but not really, updates every other week, vampire emperor, vampire kingdom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:42:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>63,345</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28413276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/montblanca/pseuds/montblanca</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just trying to find/create something that exists somewhere between The Vampire Chronicles and Labyrinth  </p><p>After decades of warring on and off, the northeastern Mollikian vampires have overtaken the central kingdom of Aberdaron, the largest kingdom of humans. Now, Aberdaron's beloved King Tadeas is dead, and as one of the most experienced ladies-in-waiting, Almira finds herself playing the decoy of Queen Xanthe. </p><p>Blair needs the queen's hand in marriage to solidify his seat on the Aberdaron throne in face of the surrounding kingdoms, but he knows the queen is harboring a secret that keeps him from proceeding and, out of amusement, has him playing along for now. </p><p>But something is stirring among those closest to Blair. The king finds Almira charming in her resolute, somewhat uncouth attitude, but she is a human woman and the vampires, their parents, and their grandparents have not fought in this war for decades just to have their win undermined.</p><p>*M for (non-explicit) sex scenes, like with TGBD, and some mature themes</p><p>Updates scheduled for every other week while in school</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blair Desdemona/Almira Katla, Blair/Almira, Lilitu/Amoret, Queen Xanthe/King Tadeas, Xanthe/Tadeas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Inspo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Inspiration for the story. I got this off of Pinterest, but you can find the artist's (Jodeee's) other works here:</p><p>
  <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/jodeee">https://www.deviantart.com/jodeee/gallery</a>
</p><p> </p><p>S/he/They make some really epic and beautiful work! Highly recommend scrolling through their gallery. It's like the coolest dark fantasy art museum next to <a href="https://abigaillarson.com/">Abigail Larson</a>'s or <a href="https://dreadillustrations.com/">DreaDIllustrations</a>'s (links are to the artists' websites, but I know DreaD also has an Etsy) social media posts and artwork imo--absolutely love, love, love</p><p> </p><p>And of course some shameless plugging: If you like Death as a character, Greek myths, history, and/or dealing with (binary--sorry, I don't feel confident in being able to appropriately deal with and tackle non-binary issues head-on) gender issues, check out my story <a href="https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/28442244/chapters/69697158">The Goddess of Blessed Death</a>. So far it's my most popular work so I guess that means it's pretty good/interesting on some level lol </p><p>My AO3 Twitter for ANY questions, comments, concerns, etc. As of now, I'm not using it to announce updates but if it starts to gain some traffic or if even just one person wants it used for announcements bc that's easier for them, then I will do so: @<a href="https://twitter.com/montblancaAO3">montblancaAO3</a></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Courting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A little taste of how the humans of the central Aberdaron Kingdom perceive their surroundings.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This will be the only chapter in this story set in past tense. All others are in present tense, so you can think of this as more of a prologue if you want.</p><p>Feel free to help me come up with a better title! Still writing the story so hopefully a clever line or powerful image will spark something.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>One: The Courting</b> </p><p> </p><p>Hundreds of men had visited the past year. Hundreds more came for the festival. Some were familiar faces, some new. The royals filled the guest rooms, while their men and servants  filled the inns and brothels and streets. Going down to the market had become so burdensome, Amira decided to give up her non-festival-related excursions entirely. Though it meant she wasn’t able to have any time to herself for the last few days, at least she wasn’t being jostled around or groped in a crowded street that she normally was able to take solace in. Her place of refuge was quickly descending into chaos. </p><p>The last time, she’d watched some poor prostitute being dragged out by a drunken soldier--somewhere from the south based off the accent that garbled his drunk yelling--until one of the Fair Ones of the east pulled them apart and the woman fled back into the brothel. Amira left as the manager threw out another southerner; they weren’t known for their respect towards sexworkers. It was all the more off putting to see those fair men with their pointed teeth and ears walking about when humans and vampires were at war. Luckily, very few accompanied their king to the courting festival and most entertained themselves in the heavily guarded castle walls separate from the queen and her ladies. All that coupled with being grabbed by mystery hands at least once every time she took her walk down to the market had Amira caving. She could go without for the month while her queen picked out her future husband. At least the castle had a decent garden that stretched out for acres.</p><p>There were eyes everywhere, especially now, so she never felt truly alone and the places she could remove her veil became few and far between, but it was the start of summer when the air and flowers were still fresh from spring but all the cold had long melted into a comforting warmth. At least that, Amira looked forward to every day when working with Her Highness got to be too much. Preparation for the daily feasts and then the festival itself at the end of the month was daunting. Queen Xanthe prized her for her taste, but the other ladies-in-waiting sometimes saw it as a competition of who could impress the queen the most. It only made the job harder. </p><p>Just the day prior Reida took credit for an outfit Almira put together for the queen for today’s feast. Estersa said nothing, despite having seen Almira putting it together. Her Highness had been intelligent to separate the girls’ duties, but in the mayhem leading up to the festival, had forgotten and was unusually distracted. She thanks Reida, leaving Almira fuming. If Reida was able to take her job by the end of the month, then she would be on the streets or demoted and left desperate for a man. At least with this job, there was no relying on anyone else--her family relied on <em> her </em>. Reida put it all at risk. </p><p>So, that afternoon, Almira went out for a brief walk in the gardens. Noblemen and their men milled around, forcing Almira to keep her veil on. It outed her as one of the queen’s ladies, and they flocked to her asking for time with the queen or flattering her sense of fashion, bolder ones remarking on some aspect of her body--the exquisite purples in her dress, her thin wrists, her womanly figure. They sounded like their lowly men down at the brothels. Finally, a guard walked by and they all stepped back from her. </p><p>Almira was quick to run, racing past the oncoming men, through the shrubs, the roses, marigolds, and violets, and into the tall trees. She knew the garden’s labyrinth well, but only a few of the men dared to follow. She was quick to lose them among the scent of pine. Panting, she walked further into the trees. Soon all she heard was the rustle of squirrels and chipmunks, the squawking of crows, and the tweeting of songbirds. No more footfalls, no more nagging, no more lies. </p><p>After a while, Almira pulled back her veil, grinning from ear to ear, and walked further into the labyrinth. </p><p> </p><p>Three great pines tables were lined up like a poorly made horseshoe. At the center of the horizon table sat Queen Xanthe and her ladies. Where there was space between the tables, a jester danced mockingly. The only noise he made came from the bells on his shoes. Some of the men stared at the sardonic comic in disgust, some muttered to each other before sniggering, some yelled drunkenly at him, whether it be out of rage or mania, and some cheered him on. The tests had grown old to Almira now that it was nearing the end of the month and the festival was less than a week away. She grown to expect poor manners from the southerns, who either couldn’t hold their drink or drank too much or both, indifference from the northeastern vampires, mocking from the southeastern vampires, many of whom only ever touched the wine, and a variety of more positive manners from the westerns. Though sometimes also drunk, they seemed more intune with how much they could stand. </p><p>None of the men knew, but Almira was certain her queen had already made her decision, so long as the festival went well. One of the western kings in particular was well-mannered and gentle. King Tadeas cheered the jester on, his face slightly flush from mead. His men clapped and whistled. They would make a strong ally, having fought and defeated the easterns before. His men were some of few that hadn’t broken out in fights. The only rivals they had were when it came to etiquette were the vampires who accompanied the northeastern King Blair; but, that was largely because they walked around as though they were void of emotion unless directly engaged with. King Blair had made a remark about not wanting the sight of their teeth to put off anyone at one point or another. </p><p>So, Almira had come to expect more rogue behavior from anyone closer to the south. They seemed to be aching for fights or to abuse some poor prostitute. A couple were either stupid or brave enough to make snide comments on not being able to see the queen’s face. Almira wasn’t sure whether southwestern King Tomek’s or southeastern King Loukios’s reaction had been worse: King Tomek ordered his man to be whipped, while King Loukios ignored the slight. Afterwards, when the women were by themselves and the queen wanted to brainstorm about how things were going that far into the month, Queen Xanthe had wondered if perhaps it was the rough weather they had to endure, perhaps it was the fact that everyone believed they were barbarians, or perhaps they were real and truly just a lot of assholes. It seemed they only had enough decency to at least feign decent for the first week. Almira was just glad their kings were as bad as the men so her queen didn’t feel any pull towards them. She couldn’t imagine spending more than this month around them. </p><p>The feasts since that second week were all very similar once the noble and royal southerns dropped their pleasant facade: they cause some insult, a man gets whipped or ignored, most of the kings (all of whose names Almira had forgotten because they were entirely forgettable) paid more attention to the entertainment and food than courting Queen Xanthe, King Tomek switched off between entertaining himself with the newest entertainers and joking with Xanthe about them, and King Blair stared a lot. The striking gray-scilla color of his bloodshot eyes pierced through the veils Almira wore. Despite the food and wine laid out in front of him, the king only ever touched the wine and he always looked hungry. She wondered how they were feeding, <em> off who </em> they were feeding. </p><p>When she asked Queen Xanthe about it, the queen said some people were willing and the vampires never fed enough to leave anyone so dizzy they could stand and walk. Evidently they weren’t feeding enough to satiate themselves either, which Almira found both admirable and risky, especially given the war. King Blair could easily have his men pick off those who offered themselves off. Almira wondered what it would be like. Everyone had a different opinion: excruciating, arousing, dizzying, numbing, like you were up in the clouds, heightened their senses, and like nothing were the most common. They didn’t feed off themselves. It was cannibalism to them, but it meant war for her queen. </p><p>Almira wasn’t sure what she had expected of the vampires. War was war and nothing good is ever said of the opposing side, but she had expected the king to show more signs of being at war, whether he be unusually rude or unusually polite or scared or having sunken-in eyes. Dark rings developed around his eyes only after three weeks, and Almira guessed it had more to do with feeding because so long as the king was participating in the festival, the war was suspended. His talks on the war, however, were greatly reduced to inferences that he would hold greater power over their combined lands after the marriage. From what the queen told her ladies, he spent more time talking about other things, anyways. He was a lover of art, whether it be literature or painting or drawing or music. </p><p>“Does he read war tales?” Estera had muttered while the girls helped her change after lunch. </p><p>“No, classics,” Queen Xanthe had said. </p><p>“Classics?” Almira had asked. </p><p>“Yes, he spoke very highly of <em> Betrayal of the Gods </em> and <em> The Manor of Ruin </em> ,” the queen said. “Though he was careful to steer away from <em> Amaris on War and Ethics </em> and <em> The God Artifice </em>, we managed to pass the time talking about Amaris’ more philosophical and literary influences. Turns out she was also very influential to vampire arts.”</p><p>Evidently, their enemy did have layers, as much as he looked like someone had carved him from stone. Social criticism to romance to philosophy. They could no longer argue that King Blair was unaware of what he was doing. Almira had become certain he knew his impact the war was having on them. He was more than a greedy vampire. Everyone’s greedy. He was a smart one, and therefore a dangerous one. He knew when to suck even the marrow out of you and when to leave you only half-dizzy. He knew when to talk of art and when to lead in battle. He knew when to observe and when to strike. He was controlled, and a controlled man knows how to bring down an empire. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The tags under the Characters section put accents on Tadeas's name. I've repeatedly tried to fix it but it doesn't seem to want to listen, so please ignore that. Tadeas's name is as is in the chapters and under the Relationships section, not as the tag under Characters listings (sorry).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Usurper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Mollikians usurp Aderdaron leadership</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Two: The Usurper </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Tadeas’s body falls at Blair’s feet, blood pooling on the floor, around the vampire’s feet. There is a flash of movement to his left, and Blair’s head whips to the side. Stepping over the late king’s body, bloody footprints follow him across the throne room floor. He throws a partition aside and draws in a breath. There is a familiar scent of geranium and pine. </p><p>“They were just here,” he says. “Find them. Follow the smell of pine.” </p><p>A small unit of his soldiers sweep forward, disappearing into the next room, a powder room leading to a corridor. Unlike human armor, their dragon’s armor doesn’t clang and give them away. They move as silent as a prowling leopard and as quickly as a striking one. All escapes were blocked off. Blair was careful to find every single one during his explorations of the castle two years ago. His soldiers will find the fleeing women. </p><p>“Clean this mess,” he orders. “You,” he points to the steward Leandro, “Follow.”</p><p>Five soldiers shove Leandro forward, crowding in until he stumbles forward and follows. Marching out of the room, Blair goes up to the fourth floor where the queen’s chambers are. Once at the top of the stairs, they cross the principal corridor, which spans the length of the castle, back to the regent rooms. Armless marble statues and candelabras line the way. From arched windows, light floods onto the black and white flooring, casting shadows of the floral patterns. One side is a  view of the quadrangle, the other the view of the garden. </p><p>“Clear the queen’s room of anything sharp or hazardous to herself or to others. She’s not to eat or drink without me. How high are the ceilings?” </p><p>“They must be over three meters, sir,” Leandro says, not bothering to hide the venom in his voice. Blair ignores it; he cares for the information and little else. </p><p>“Good,” Blair says, stepping into the queen’s bedroom. Leandro makes a noise of protest. Blair ignores that, too. </p><p>The room is spacious with a cream and bronze four-poster on a platform, a desk, and a vanity. There is a fireplace with two armchairs on one wall and in the center is a coffee table with two more armchairs. One door leads to a bathroom with a claw-footed porcelain bath, another to her copious amounts of clothing, which, so different from a vampire’s more simplistic and practical approaches, Blair cannot even begin to understand; both rooms are as large as the bedroom. He stands up onto the desk chair and reaches up towards the ceiling. His fingers are far enough away that he is certain she won’t be able to reach up and hang anything from there. </p><p>“Rid of the four-poster,” he orders. “A simple bed is fine enough.” </p><p>“Sir?” Leandro asks. </p><p>Blair turns to the steward with sharp eyes. “I’d want my future wife to harm herself as much as you’d want your queen to,” he says, moving his hands behind his back as he left the room. They make their way back to the stairs. “Take out the bath. If she’s in need, she shall use mine. Replace her clothing with more appropriate ones. Lilitu?” </p><p>“Yes.” A brown-skinned woman steps forward to walk one step behind her king. </p><p>“I put you in charge of the women,” he says. It means a promotion to that of lieutenant general, the last one having died in the coup. </p><p>“Thank you!” she says. </p><p>“Elio will be working on quailing a potential uprising. He won’t care to think of the women. I trust you will. Fair warning, they can be more strong-willed than you might think.” </p><p>“All women are so if you push them the right way,” Lilitu says pointedly, and Blair grins. They cross the principal corridor back to the stairs, descending to the third floor where the consort king’s chambers are. On one side of the principal corridor are where the higher-ranked queen’s ladies live, though only until the couple was to have children--children that now will never exist. </p><p>“How can a couple live so far apart?” Lilitu murmurs as they cross the corridor once more, nearing the consort chambers. </p><p>“I imagine for reasons we are about to live out.” Blair lets out a heavy exhale. </p><p>“I heard the queen got along very well with her late consort.” </p><p>“You don’t think she’ll get along very well with me?” Blair smirks. Lilitu doesn’t respond, but her lips lift even as she suppresses the slight grin. </p><p>The late king’s quarters bedroom is smaller than the queen’s and bright, the open bay windows letting in the warm summer breeze. Sage curtains lift from the ground and wave against the air. The fourposter is cream with green and gold. The king, too, has a desk, fireplace, and sitting area. </p><p>“I’m tempted to take her room,” Blair mutters to Lilitu. “I will be regent, after all.” </p><p>“It’s certainly more spacious,” she says, “but how much time will you be spending here anyways?” </p><p>“You’re right, I doubt I’ll need the space.” </p><p>The bathroom and walk-in closet are the same: while they have the same features as the queen’s, the space is slightly smaller. Blair discovers that the reason for the smaller size is the cabinet/office room at the end of the hall. </p><p>“That’s more convenient than the office upstairs,” Lilitu says. “Getting used to walking this corridor is going to be a pain in the ass. Who designs a castle this way? Put rooms along the way or something. People will certainly want a respite, it’s so long.” </p><p>Returning to Blair’s new bedroom, they step out onto the balcony. </p><p>“Should I. . ..” Lilitu stops as she looks out over the city. The fighting stopped, but house fires are still burning and dragons fly overhead, chasing screeching gryphons. Lilitu can tell the dragons are half-playing and don’t really mean any harm, but the gryphons still draw blood when caught. People’s cries rise with the smoke. Vampires are flinging water alongside the humans. </p><p>“Will we be staying here, then?” she finally asks. </p><p>“Aberdaron’s location is more ideal than Mollikia’s, even if their architecture is eccentric to our taste.” </p><p>“I’ve never been to the sea.” </p><p>“We’ll take you along for our first trip to the sea, then.” </p><p>“What about Queen Xanthe and her ladies?” </p><p>“Whether they come or not will be up to them.” Blair catches the sound of running footfalls approaching. “Speaking of them. . ..” He walks back inside. Surrounded by the rest of the soldiers, Leandro glares at Blair and Lilitu. </p><p>One of the soldiers Blair sent after the woman rushes into the room. “My king,” he greets before saying, “They’ve barricaded themselves in the kitchens and servants’ quarters.” </p><p>“Leave them.” </p><p>The soldier looks perplexed, as though he isn’t sure he’s heard Blair correctly. </p><p>“Bring me the nearest human, anyone will do,” Blair says. The soldiers grab Leandro, who struggles against them. For an older man, he’s strong and manages to tear his arm away from one of the vampires. “Not him, we need him. Fetch me another and bring them to the throne room.”</p><p>The soldier scurries off. Blair, Lilitu, Leandro, and the other soldiers return to the throne room. Tadeas’s body is gone and the pool of blood somewhat cleaned up, but in the disposal of the body, it has smeared across the floor. </p><p>“Do you want me where they are?” Lilitu asks. </p><p>“Not yet.” Blair walks up to the golden thrones. Their backs are shaped like roaring gryphons, their feet are clawed paws. Bear skins cover the seats. Blair sits down and Lilitu stands beside him when a human is dragged in. A servant, based on the uniform. </p><p>“Do you know where your queen is?” Blair taunts. The human, trembling as he cowers against the floor over his knees, shakes his head. “She’s hiding,” the king answers. “Bring her out or I’ll kill you. Tell her that until she comes out, someone will die every hour and I will be sending each one to her.” </p><p>The human is dragged off behind the partition, begging incoherently. He’s pulled through the powder room into the principal corridor, taken down into the kitchens. His legs fall limp even as he continues to try and wrench his arms free, so that the vampires have to drag him before human guards. Ten of them crowd around the doors to the kitchen, swords unsheathed. The vampires drop the servant before them, and there is a crack as he hits the hard flooring. He doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, sobbing and crawling to their feet. They don’t hesitate to bring him into their protective circle and maneuver so that two of them can help him slip into the kitchens. </p><p>Without the help of the vampire soldiers or human guards, he falls to the kitchen floors. They’re familiar to him, but not comforting. If he doesn’t succeed, he’ll die. If he does succeed, he doesn’t know what will happen to his queen. A hand lays on his back, and he flinches away. </p><p>“It’s okay,” says a woman. </p><p>He looks up and gasps. None of the five women are wearing their veils. His eyes automatically fall to the floor before he can process what he’s seen, and he bows his head. </p><p>“Please,” he says, crying. “Please.” </p><p>“What’s he done?” says the woman closest to him. </p><p>He shrinks away from her. He doesn’t want their comfort. He doesn’t want to see them. He wants them to leave the kitchens. </p><p>“Please,” he pleads. “He’ll kill someone every hour. Starting with me. I have three children, two, three, and five, and a wife. She’s pregnant, she can’t work. <em> Please-- </em>I don’t want to die!” </p><p>The women are silent as he grovels and sobs, bent over like they’ve broken his back. They stand between him and Queen Xanthe, who sits at the table. </p><p>“You can’t,” Reida says to her queen. </p><p>“If you do, His Highness will have died for nothing,” Iriel says fiercely. “He was our king before you were our queen. You have to--” </p><p>“If she goes out there, then she will die, too,” Reida snaps. “Then what?” </p><p>“What if we trick him?” Estera says. “Or negotiate.”</p><p>“No!” cried the man. “No, no, no. . ..” </p><p>“Is it possible to trick the devil?” Damaris mutters, kneeling on the ground near him. </p><p>“If he hasn’t seen her,” Almira says. </p><p>Queen Xanthe looks up to meet Almira’s almond eyes. She stands and moves around the table, hugging Almira and holding her tightly. “I promise to not let this go to waste,” she whispers. </p><p>Almira’s heart is caught in her throat. It’s too late to back out now, but she hadn’t agreed it would be <em>her</em>. The swiftness with which the queen--her queen--agreed to it steals the words from her mouth. Numb, she just nods. </p><p>The man’s sobbing is renewed as the Queen lifts the veil from where it gathered behind her head like a hood and pulls it over her face. Her ladies-in-waiting follow suit, Almira taking a moment longer than the others. Reida knocks. </p><p>“The queen will meet him,” Queen Xanthe says. </p><p>The ladies file out of the kitchen. Stiffly, Almira follows. A guard picks up the man laying on the ground. Almira isn’t sure if his crying is out of relief or terror; either way, it’s not helping her nerves. They’re firing off with every step, so that she hears the blood in her ears and feels pricking at her spine. </p><p>They’re taken to the throne room, where Blair lounges. A woman with dark olive skin and a frown stands off to the side. Almira’s feet carry her forward in front of him, but she doesn’t feel they are her feet. She feels as though she’s gliding towards him like a ghost as someone else’s feet carry her forward. </p><p>“Veil,” Blair says with a flick of his finger. </p><p>Hesitantly, Almira lifts the veil. Blair’s eyes narrow and he studies her face as if he somehow knows. But that would be impossible, so Almira stands her ground, not that she has a choice. Her feet are rooted to the ground. </p><p>“Xanthe?” he asks. </p><p>“Yes,” Almira wavers. </p><p>“Good,” he purrs. “Then we can get started. We’re to marry--” </p><p>“No.” The words have left Almira’s lips before she can stop them. </p><p>“No?” Blair grips the throne’s armrest. His eyes narrow in warning, and danger emanates from where he sits. In the risen throne, he towers over her. </p><p>Almira swallows and imbues as much strength into her voice as she can manage. “No,” she repeats. “There are some things we need to discuss first.” </p><p>“Go on.” </p><p>“Where is everyone else?” she asks.</p><p>“Your parents and husband are dead,” Blair says with a cold indifference. “Any vassal you had were chased off or killed in war. Servants who fought back, killed. Your men, killed; arrested if they surrendered. Doubtful they can be trusted—-they will be made examples of. Who remain of your elite loyal subjects are either in hiding in the manors, half of which have been burnt down on our way here, and these ladies behind you. I’d rather avoid an insurgency, you see.”</p><p>Almira’s mind swirls. As rooted as her feet are to the hardwood flooring, it feels as if she is swaying with the room for a moment. She knew the king was killed, but the queen-mother and king-father, too. . .. They were regents with influence as advisors and cultural icons but little more. Each killing under Blair was methodical and purposeful. Cold, inhumane.</p><p>“There is also the matter of treatment of humans under. . . your leadership,” Almira says. Now that she’s talking, her determination grows, and with it, her rage. She has to keep it in check if she wants him to consider anything. “Protective policies for humans under such a regime are pertinent. Also, keeping the gryphons and dragons separate.” </p><p>“Pets can figure out themselves.” </p><p>“We aren’t your pets,” Almira retorts quickly, well-aware of the subtext and insulted he could think she might miss it. “And if you don’t ensure our protection, then I <em> won’t </em> marry you.” </p><p>“I can force you.” </p><p>“I don’t know how vampires marry, but it works differently among humans.” </p><p>“Is it not a contract of allyship?” </p><p>“<em> Chosen </em>allyship. Forced marriages are not recognized. If they have been recorded, the partner can bring it to the sovereign and--” </p><p>“You will marry me,” Blair says. “Today, tomorrow, next year, in five years, I don’t care.” </p><p>Almira stares at the king in shock. There’s no way he’d wait that long. </p><p>“Come here, my dear,” Blair coos. When Almira doesn’t move, he beckons her forward with his index finger. “Come.” </p><p>Almira steps up to the throne. </p><p>“Closer,” he says, but she’s already so close she can feel his breath ghost over her. “Don’t be shy.” </p><p>Anxiety spiking, one of Almira’s feet steps onto the throne platform when Blair’s hand grabs her face. As much as her body screams to pull back, she meets his simmering gaze, her hand gripping his wrist. Nails dig into her cheeks. </p><p>“You’re food,” he says. “Show me how well you provide and I’ll show you how kind I can be.” </p><p>
  <em> It’s not kindness, you bastard.  </em>
</p><p>Blair can see the hardened defiance in Almira’s eyes despite the panic written all over her creased brow. How she leans her body as far away from him even as those eyes pierce him to the spot. </p><p>“It’s up to you, my dear,” he lilts and lets go of her face. </p><p>Cheeks and eyes stinging, Almira’s expression is of fear, but also of curiosity. Two years ago, she wondered and now she wonders again what it’s really like. </p><p>“Fine,” she says. </p><p>It makes Blair’s stomach flip in anticipation as he holds back a groan. He’d rather not use her secret as leverage. What an interesting twist of fate that has placed <em>her </em>in his lap. Of course, she would turn out to be the most headstrong. </p><p>“For now, you may go to your room,” Blair says. “We can discuss your ideas later when I call for you.” </p><p>Almira visibly shivers. Blair suppresses the urge to pull her forward and find out whether of fear or anticipation; he suspects a bit of both. </p><p>“My ladies?” she asks. </p><p>“They can go with you,” he says. “And another, Lilitu.” He motions to the frowning brown-eyed vampire by his side. “She will be your charge. If there is a problem, go to her. If any of you try something foolish, she or any of the others assigned to you under her will stop and report it.” </p><p>Almira nods. </p><p>“You may go,” Blair says. </p><p>Ten vampires surround the ladies so that the women crowd in on each other, stepping on toes and stumbling over lengthy dresses. Lilitu and Almira lead the pack up the stairs to the third floor and across the principal corridor. The gazes of the ancient kings and queens and heroes follow Almira as she walks past. </p><p>When Lilitu opens the door and Almira steps in, she stops at the sight.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Scheming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Three: Scheming </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Lilitu opens the door and Almira steps in, she stops at the sight. Her queen’s beautiful, decadent room has been stripped bare. Everything Queen Xanthe and her predecessors stood for--growth, power, wealth--</span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Almira finds herself in the center of the bedchamber doing a slow spin. The desk and vanity are missing. The bed is half of what it once was. There are no decorations, no memorabilia of achievements or gifts. Almira rushes into the wardrobe. What were handsewn dress layers have been taken away to who knows where. Almira’s work, wasted. Thrown away? Burned? The jewelry cabinets are empty. Her feet carry her to the crown’s box and she shakily lifts open the lid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the velvet sits not the golden crown of Aberdaron, but what looks more like a hairpiece. Golden laurel leaves are curved to the shape of a head, while a fine-tooth comb sticks out from the bottom for grip. If she were facing a crowd, they would have no idea she was royalty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira whirls around to Lilitu. “Where is everything? What have you done?” she demands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, seeing as you’re not married to him, you’re no longer queen,” Lilitu says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira’s anger is only briefly washed away by dread, before her face twists into an enraged scowl. “Do you mean these chambers have been made into one for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>courtesan</span>
  </em>
  <span>? The </span>
  <em>
    <span>queen’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> chambers?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you behave well, I’m sure he’ll have some things returned. Not the crown, of course, but maybe the vanity and desk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira can’t bring herself to look at the ladies standing by the door. She imagines how the queen feels, but she doesn’t want to know. Knowledge is power, but it is also a sharp sword. It would confirm everything that Blair had done and would continue to do to them. Through the open curtains, snapping dragons chase screeching gryphons through rising smoke. There is a storm thrumming from within Almira, its dark clouds drifting closer and closer. Barely contained, waiting to be unleashed onto Blair and all that he stands for and all that he’s taken. She wants to unleash it onto all of the vampires, for they all did this to her, her queen, her people, her land. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She holds onto the feeling, stashing it away in her heart. She’ll remember when she has to see him that night. Then, she won’t tremble before him. His beauty masks a rotted beast inside, but the mask is transparent now and she sees right through it. She sees through all their masks. Lilitu--a servant is as guilty as a master. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glaring at me won’t solve your problems,” Lilitu says suddenly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira isn’t sure how long she’d been standing there glaring at the vampire, but she doesn’t care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to be alone with my ladies,” she snaps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lilitu snorts but leaves with the other vampires. “Five minutes,” she  says before shutting the bedroom door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Queen Xanthe darts into the bathroom and shuts the door. “Almira, I don’t think they will let us be with you when you go to see him tonight,”  she says in a hurried, hushed tone. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to negotiate with him. Get him to agree to helping the people at first. Distract him with less important offers by making them seem important, so when you have to give something up, it’s not a big deal. You were right about the protective policies, now you have to convince him to pass them. Make sure he will let us review it before it passes, too, so you can look for any loopholes the vampires may try. They should address abuse, hate crimes, discrimination, safe spaces, and ensured opportunities. Whatever you do, don’t marry him. Don’t take any material things he offers, don’t make any promises, it could be a trap.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we stop them from feeding?” Iriel asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Queen Xanthe’s gaze drops to the floor. “Part of me is hopeful, the other part is extraordinarily dubious. Five minutes isn’t enough to come up with a fleshed out plan, but if they can give it to us once a day, then we can make do. I’ll be thinking about it day and night, the rest of you need to as well. Almira, just focus on distracting Blair and getting policies passed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I can get on his good side, then I can get us favors like keeping the vampires out of the room,” Almira says. “It would give us more time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, good, let’s go back out before they come out,” the queen says.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each of the girls wish Almira luck as they hurry back out. When Lilitu enters a moment later, she’s grinning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You forgot something,” she lilts. “Vampires have sharp hearing. Have a good time in the bathroom?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, we knew,” Almira retorts. “That’s why we went into the bathroom.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One side of Lilitu’s mouth lifts into a half-snarl, revealing fangs that are striking against her dark skin. “So, you’re not denying anything,” she snaps and circles Almira. “You were plotting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only how to get our lives back. You think we can plan a coup in five minutes, snaggletooth? It took you five decades.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lilitu steps forward so that she stands up against Almira. The two are nearly equal in height with Lilitu just a millimeter taller. Her head is shaved and it makes her face look all the more angled and severe. The dragon armor is form-fitted and emits a heat against Almira’s cool skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Technically, it took Blair less than five years,” Lilitu says. “His father and him see further than average.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t believe in magic, do you?” Almira scoffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but some are more tuned into the world than others. Blair knows how to pick his allies and how to strike down his enemies. If you’re planning something, he’ll know. He’ll find out tonight when you go to see him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira stiffens at the reminder. “We’ll see,” she mutters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Humans. You never do know when you’ve been beaten. You’re but pitiful children.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you might as well have come from the south.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Almira is staring at the ground, her head twisted to the side, and her hand on her cheek. It takes a moment for her brain to catch up and process the slap and another moment for the skin of her cheek to sting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Notice we don’t pillage and rape still,” Lilitu sneers in Almira’s face. She’s so close Almira cannot help but lean back. Her breath smells like herbs, strangely, not of blood or flesh. “We aren’t brutes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> got outsmarted. And that is how we’ll keep going” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think you can take over the west and the south, too?” Surprise and disbelief drip from Almira’s scornful words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t need to take over the west. Killing Tadeas will send enough of a message.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They won’t agree to any alliance with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They will when you marry Blair.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then how do you expect he will listen to anything you have to say? Right now, all I see is a whore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira often prided herself on her self-discipline and self-control. Now is not a moment in which either matters to her. She shoves Lilitu, who takes a half-step back with one foot. The vampire smirks, amused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll have to hit harder if you want to hurt any of us,” she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is pointless,” Almira snaps and walks away from Lilitu. “Can I at least leave my room?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to the library, then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lilitu holds out her arm towards the door. Another vampire opens it. Almira shoves past Lilitu hard enough to force the vampire to step back. Her queen and the other ladies trail after her, but draw close when the vampires stalk after them. They go down to the second floor. She takes the long way around to walk past the throne room. Blair and his minions are still there, Leandro stuck among them. Another vampire stands by Blair’s side. He’s lanky with pale skin and silvery blonde hair that falls past his shoulders. Arms crossed, he looks bored, drumming his fingers on his arm as they listen to a vampire soldier fervently try to convince Blair how bad the fires are and how the dragons need to find a place to land or it’ll only get worse. How, in the end, it’ll cause more problems than it’s worth, even if it makes the humans fear them more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair looks over at the group as they pass. His eyes hone in and lock onto Almira. He perks up, a ravenous hawk finding a juicy rabbit. She tears her gaze from him and marches past the throne room, turning into the principal corridor, and walking down it to where some of the ladies’ rooms are. She passes the guards’ room and turns into the library. It’s the largest in the kingdom. Hopefully, it will get Lilitu to leave her alone even as she picks up books on strategy. Almira started as a noblewoman with a penchant for sewing and design. With her and her tutor/aunt’s reputation, minimal negotiation was needed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the designer, she told people what and how to make, and elites gobbled up her garments up without haggling for a price. After all, they believed her products weren’t to be found in the street markets, that they were above such environments. It was the queen who found her selling garments she’d sewn herself to the people her grandparents sold and haggled with. Even then, the villagers know her, they know her family, they know how she lowered the prices until they were practically free, and they know how she did donate her extras. It was how she came into the queen’s good graces and how she got the position of lady-in-waiting. Almira wasn’t as sure as the queen that it was all entirely altruistically; once she began serving the queen, it was all too easy to focus on working for her than going down to the market every week. It was a lot of work, but it was relatively easier than the stories her grandparents told. A lot of it came down to fortune and circumstance, not the struggle and hunger and strategy her mother’s parents endured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she read, she thought a lot about them. What they would do in her position. Her grandmother was the strongest, most stubborn woman she ever met. It was what saved their family, her grandfather would say. When she thinks of them together, her heart aches and a hard, painful lump grows in her throat. So, she focuses harder on </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Teachings of Olwen</span>
  </em>
  <span> and tries to ignore how Lilitu stares at her as the hours pass. She finds a pen and some paper in the library and scribbles down notes on what she might say and </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> she might say it. No matter where they go in the library, a vampire is always around the corner, close enough to listen, so Almira, her queen, and the ladies make vague comments about what they are reading every once in a while, some of the girls sharing a book to lean close to one another, and only Almira reads books on strategy. They pass books to one another, pretending that they are talking about a handsome hero or lame damsel, when really their notes are tucked away inside. Despite how the vampires hover, reading and brainstorming helps to pass the time. Before they know it, Lilitu is calling for Almira. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The First Feeding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Blair gets a taste of Almira.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Four: The First Feeding </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s time,” the vampire says with a smile. On both the top and bottom, her canines and outer incisors are sharp against her lips, yet manage to not split the skin and draw blood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other women stand, but just as Queen Xanthe predicted, the vampires slide in between Almira and the others. They don’t move, even as Lilitu beckons for Almira to walk with her again. She drags her feet, wishing she hadn’t come down to the second floor. If she’d stayed upstairs, it would give her more time on the way to the throne room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only when they reach the room, it’s empty of Blair. The silver-haired vampire looks up from where he paces in front of the thrones, pauses at the sight of Lilitu and Almira, and resumes his pacing. Lilitu takes Almira to the stairs, and immediately, her mind races to come up with what to say to Blair. She came up with different lines over the past hours, but now that she’s about to stand in front of him, she’s second guessing and picking apart each line. They reach the door to the late King Tadeas’s apartments, and suddenly, the words all evade Almira. She can’t grab onto any single one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lilitu pushes open the door and tilts her head, indicating for Almira to enter. She’s never been in the consort’s quarters, but she imagines they were more comforting when they belonged to King Tadeas. The sun is making its way down, its lowest curve grazing the tip of the far off mountains. No dragons chase uninterested and frightened gryphons. She briefly wonders where they sent the dragons and if the gryphons are alright. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The air is warm from the fireplace, wrapping around Almira, whispering lullabies to fall asleep to, but the sage and gold scheme is gaudy and dull with Blair between the walls. He sucks the life out of the air, owning it, making it his own. Now that they are standing, Almira is glad she’s a bit taller than other girls. If she looks straight ahead, her eyes fall to his pointed chin. He won’t be able to successfully use his height to intimidate her, as she has seen so many men try before. Though, if she’s honest, Blair doesn’t need to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stands imposing as is, an open book in hand. Half of his long, black hair is tied back by a thin, red ribbon. His ears are as pointed as his teeth and his teeth, highlighted by his uncanny grin, can tear flesh from bone. Now that he’s standing and they’re alone, she can more easily see how the black dragon scales mold to his body like thick layers of oil rubbed over his pale skin. A hooded cloak has been cast aside, laying over the back of one of the armchairs. His sheathed schiavona broadsword with its garnet pommel and black shagreen grip lays on the dresser. She cannot keep her gaze from lingering on the weapon. It’s infamous for its death rate, even more so when made by vampires; they have mastered the art of making long-lasting swords. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s said that each one is made unique to each vampire and that a vampire may never part from his sword,” Blair says, catching her gaze. “Should one die, it’s buried with them.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almira forces herself to meet his eyes. They’re like burning indigo at the center of a perilous, all-consuming fire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only people who worship violence would do such a thing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It takes two to make war, darling.” He goes to the small table and, putting down his book, picks up a cup. “Thirsty?” When she doesn’t move, he takes a sip. “I promise it’s neither blood nor poison.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, Almira walks into the room. She stops a foot away from the table so that Blair has to come to her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope you like berry,” he says, handing her a red drink. It’s not thick enough to be blood and smells of boysenberry. The tea’s warmth washes over her tense muscles while the fruit’s sweet yet tangy flavor wakes her up from the fireplace’s initial spell. She mutters thanks under her breath purely out of decorum and habit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re welcome,” he says pleasantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowns, having forgotten about vampire hearing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shall we begin, or do you want to wait a while?” he asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almira startles. “I--We have to come to an agreement first.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t kill you,” he says, annoyed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I mean, about the regime.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Annoyance growing, Blair sucks in his cheeks and pops down in one of the armchairs by the table. Almira sits across from him. It’s strange, facing him, talking to him about politics. She never imagined getting caught up with man, or anyone for that matter. Her life had been sewing and designing for fun and then for fun work and then for the queen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your proposal?” he asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almira is tempted to take out the list she stuffed down her dress, but decides against it; reaching down her decolletage would be too awkward, and the cross out and hardly legible notes hardly request to be taken professionally. So, she tried to think about what the paper said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Humans cannot be barred from any opportunities offered to the vampires--any institutions, establishments, schools, jobs, churches--er, other religious--” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vampires can enter churches,” Blair drawls, still irritated. Almira chews the inside of her lip. She won’t get anywhere so long as he’s in a bad mood, but she can’t be sure he won’t ever be in a good moon when discussing this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do they even teach you?” Blair mutters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” she says, taking a mental note: not really devils incarnate, just metaphorically. “I didn’t know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blair’s face softens into an impassivity. “Go on,” he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling a spur of hope, Almira scoots forward in her seat. “There need to be policies in place to prevent discrimination and abuse while also ensuring opportunities if vampires are to, to dominate.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blair regards her coolly but not coldly, calculating but not yet dismissing. She’s walking a fine line. “You have a lot of demands for someone who lost their crown,” he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So we get to what you want,” Almira says. “I won’t marry you, but we can still work together. You should have at least one human advisor. If humans see that I’m on your side, there’s less likely to be any rebellion. No doubt different groups are already discussing different ones. You could have a lot of trouble soon.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If we don’t marry, there’s still room for rebellion. You aren’t tied to me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To you, marriage is a contract. To me, only partially. Even the simplest farmer will know that. They see us working together, they’ll be more likely to buy into it. Humans believe vampires are like sirens. If we marry, they’ll simply think you tricked me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what if I force you, quell the rebellions, and toss out your policies?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your view on economics is either shoddy or risky--either way, you can’t throw away everything h--we worked for! My family built this kingdom. You’re not going to tear it down. I won’t let you. Besides, you can’t afford to. If you do, you’ll lose everything you’ve gained, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm, I almost believed you really are a queen.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Terror rips straight through Almira. “Excuse me? I am one. Just because you don’t think I’m a queen doesn’t mean I’m not. You’re well-read, you should know it’s not about a title so much as what’s done with it. I hate you for what you’ve done, but that doesn’t mean I have to sit back and watch you fuck it up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blair laughs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop it!” she immediately yells. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blair clears his throat. “You’re right, apologies,” he murmurs. “I was just taken by surprise. Never heard anyone well-bred talk like that outside of the south.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almira says nothing. The queen certainly wouldn’t have spoken like that. Again, her grandmother flashes to the forefront of her mind. She was stubborn as a bull and at times, as foul mouthed as a sailor. It was one of the reasons Almira didn’t get to see her very often. A reminder of where her mother came from before she caught the earl’s eye. An embarrassment for the earl. A kindred spirit for Almira, who is only good at decorum now after having grown used to the sting of a thin stick and the back of a hand. She is not “well-bred,” as Blair puts it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s besides the point,” Almira grumbles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blair sits forward in his seat, moving closer to Almira so that he could reach over and touch her face if he wanted. He doesn’t, one hand on his knee and the other on the armrest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right,” he agrees. “I’ll think about your proposal. Now, shall we get on with it or do have some more requests?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One more.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His dark eyebrows raise: he’s listening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d appreciate it if the vampires would stay out of my room. I’m accustomed to a certain amount of privacy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I expect you’re including your ladies in this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I am.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine, for now. Should Lilitu have anything to say, though, that right will be swiftly removed.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she forces out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now,” Blair says. Sharp and instantaneous as a spark, his mood changes. His hand lifts expectantly, fingers reaching out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almira takes his hand, knowing what it symbolizes but not exactly what it’ll mean for her. Apprehension drips down her spine like a single droplet of ice water as she stands and moves around the table to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will it hurt?” she asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The first time sometimes does, but a lot of it depends on if you’re afraid,” he says. “Sometimes they think they aren’t afraid and then it hurts and we have to stop. Others think they are and then it doesn’t. Usually, there is an initial sharp pain.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it true about. . . bonding?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blair’s expression hardens as he turns slightly grave. “To be blunt, it’s like sex. Don’t give me that look, a fly will go in.” Almira promptly shut her mouth and he continued, “If we are generalizing, it hurts initially but then grows into a discomfort and at some point, you grow used to it. Some may find it pleasurable, some may not. Two people can bond over sex because they both make it intimate, same with feeding.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blair still holds her as she stands before him, looking down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There has to be vulnerability on both sides,” he says. “Otherwise, it’s just a bite.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almira nods because she doesn’t know what to say. His words are both comforting and alarming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A cool breeze blows in through the doors. The sun is nearly gone behind the mountains now. Sunsets have always moved too fast, like the  last burst of energy a runner has after his longest race, like how the last leg of a journey home is both the slowest and fastest part. As the sky darkens, so do Blair’s eyes. It’s hard to make out any of that extraordinary color as his iris expand and the firelight glints against them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a tug, Almira is in his lap. She struggles slightly, her dress layers bunched up beneath her. A hand on the back of her neck stills her. She doesn’t want to look him in the eyes--perhaps vampires are sirens--so she stares at his shoulder. She can see the bone jutting out against the dragon scales. Blair lifts her hand, olive against ivory, and squeezes it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it becomes too much, squeeze like this,” he says. “And don’t forget to breathe.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almira half nods like a broken machine. He’s tilting her head, exposing her neck, and she starts to squeeze. He hesitates, his breath washing over her bare neck, and she releases his hand. Then, a dozen needles are slipping through her skin. She grimaces. The pain ebbs to a mild discomfort as she focuses on evening out her breathing, but it comes not from being fed off of. Even as she searches, she cannot feel her blood being drained. No, the discomfort comes from her head at an awkward angle and the feel of another bent over her for who knows how long. She’s sitting on this dreadful vampire’s lap and not hating it all--she squeezes his hand, abruptly hating it all. Hating him. Hating herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blair slowly releases her, pulling away. His blood-coated teeth are all sharp. Almira jumps up and away. As she moves, she hastily wipes away the tears that fell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What--” she starts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s part of feeding,” he cooes, licking over his reddened teeth. They’ve already returned to the usual state in which only the canines and outer incisors are dagger-like. “Our teeth elongate into thinner points so feeding can be painless.” His eyes flicker over her. “Well, hopefully painless.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Standing, Blair goes to his dresser, picking up a box on top. He takes out a spruce of mint, plucks off a few leaves, and eats them. Almira remembers how Lilitu’s breath didn’t smell of blood. It’s strange to think vampires would think about such a thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you all feed, then why do you care?” she asks. Her tone is much less derisive than she’d like.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blair returns the box to its spot. “Would you want your breath to smell like blood?” he says. “We don’t have a voice in what sustains us. Soldiers return from battles covered in blood. Sometimes it takes days to wash off the smell of war. No one wants to smell of war and death.” He sits at the table again, sinking against the chair and closing his eyes. He’s exhausted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It wasn’t enough,” Almira says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t had enough for many days now. It’ll take time for you to adjust and for me to regain strength.” His eyes open and scorch through her. “But don’t think I’ll be any less aware, love.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almira feels dirty and wrong and guilty. She should have shoved him away and smacked him, but instead she’d been curious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you like some tea while you overthink things and slowly come to terms?” Blair asks. He links his fingers together over his stomach, letting his head fall back against the chair. Her eyes flicker over to the sword. She takes the few steps needed to reach the dresser as quiet as she can, and he says, “I wouldn’t if I were you. I have three daggers on me, and I doubt you’ve trained with a broadsword.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t kill the queen,” Almira challenges with more confidence than she really has. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hitting you in the arm wouldn’t kill you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almira grinds her teeth. She could reach out and grab. . . and then what? She’d be a moving target. He could always “miss.” This version of the king is more relaxed than when in his throne room, and she wonders whether the show is for her or for his subjects. Either way, something lurks just beneath the surface and if she’s not careful, it’ll strike. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reluctantly, Almira returns to her seat. She suddenly feels as tired as Blair looks, but he’s given no indication that he wants her to go. So long as he doesn’t expect her to spend the night, she decides to indulge a little longer. She has to get on his good side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What were you reading?” she asks even as she leans over to see the title. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>The Duchess Who Fell</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he grunts.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almira bits the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing. Despite her best efforts, a mangled sound escapes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you read it?” he asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, when I was about fourteen.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And how old are you now?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Twen--none of your concern!” Almira turns bright red, largely due to the fact that she almost said her own age instead of the queen’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Too good for it, then?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t find it a bit. . .?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Melodramatic. Yes, of course, but I enjoy the poetic language it’s written in nevertheless.” Blair sits up and picks up the book, flipping through it’s pages. “Sometimes I like to read poorly written books. I find it makes the well written ones all the better. With this one, I can appreciate the language because of dully written books. The next book, I’ll appreciate the clear plot and mature characters.” Blair puts down the book, his fingers tenting on top. “Haven’t we discussed this once before?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almira is careful not to outwardly panic. She remembers when Queen Xanthe talked about his love of the arts two years ago. She holds his gaze. “A lot has happened since then,” she says icily. “I don’t remember.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed,” he agrees and leans back, crossing one spindly leg over the other. “Then, what shall we do about tomorrow?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is tomorrow?” Almira asks apprehensively. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My Grand Advisor wishes to meet you,” he says. “Since we will already be together, do you prefer lunch or dinner?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almira blanched. “You mean I’m to do this twice a day?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It will be a moderate loss, but nothing excessive. We’ll keep the hand squeeze arrangement, or you can say something. Feeding won’t interfere with your vocal chords. Right now is the adjustment period. Your body will grow used to it and will hopefully soon be producing enough blood to sustain the both of us.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I don’t adjust?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s very rare, but not unheard of. I suppose we would have to replace you with one of your ladies.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t dare.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I cannot help it if your body doesn’t accept this. I need a body to show the people my control. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> king.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Control over me, you mean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could never see me as your equal. You all think you’re superior. If anything, that alone is a good enough excuse to never marry the likes of you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blair’s jaw muscle rises and falls as he clenches and unclenches his teeth. “I enjoy our calm moments, but they seem to rapidly deteriorate. Have you always been a sore loser, or is it a recent development? You  were much more congenial two years ago, but then again, you still had your crown and you flitted from king to king or a whole month. I think your current position suits you. If you have accepted the idea that you are inferior already, then there’s nothing more for me to do. You are a courtesan and nothing more.” Almira opened her mouth only for Blair to continue, “And therefore any input you have is irrelevant. You exist for me and for me alone--” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do not!” Almira stands. “You will leave my ladies-in-waiting alone if you want my help. And you do. Without it, you will lose more than you will gain. Aberdarons will not see you as their king or as my consort or even my ally, and they will not stop uprising until they have done to you exactly what you have done to us. And you cannot kill us off because we are your food, you cannot enslave us or you risk us fleeing across the borders because you run the risk of the western kingdoms waging war, and by then, your efforts to quell the rebellions will have left you a poor kingdom without the means to survive another war. If I am a courtesan, then so be it, but I also am your survival.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blair rose from his seat. His hand shot out, but this time Almira was prepared and she turned away. He grabbed her face and forced her head to turn so that she faced him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do not think that this means you can control me,” he hisses, the scent of mint tickling Almira’s nose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stalemate</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blair kisses her, hard and sudden. Almira jerks out of his grasp and pushes him off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Courtesans don’t have that luxury,” he says, though he doesn’t go to grab her again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just for the remark, though, Almira shoves him again. “I meant for feeding, you fool! Touch me again and I don’t care how sharp those daggers are, I will kill you.” She’s more than tired of playing his game—she’s done. “May I retire, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sir</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” she sneers. It’s not really a question, she’s already moving towards the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blair waves dismissively at her, turning his back on her as he picks up his coat and takes it to his wardrobe. With one last glance at his broadsword, Almira leaves. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Grand Advisor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The meeting with Blair's Grand Advisor spirals out of control.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Five: The Grand Advisor</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Almira gazes at the remnants of her work for the queen. Dozens of layers and dresses reduced to a dozen. Only a dozen more of vampiric dresses. They are made of lighter materials and more practical, unrestrictive and with pockets, but also more revealing; good for northern weather and terrain, which is humid all year and hilly and steep, but not so much for the cooler seasons of the west. As attractive as those dresses are in the current summertime, Almira picks up the white bodice of bone ribbing and linen, then her skirt layers: a teal, a peach, and a sandy color. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reida, Estera, and Damaris help to tie her into the bodice for back support, then hook the skirts over her undergarments onto the bodice and to each other so that each layer is shown off. As they gently let go of the skirts, Almira feels the weight of them and how they trap in the warm air. She glances at Queen Xanthe, who offers a knowing smile. No wonder she changes three times a day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve done so well, my dear,” her queen says. She kisses Almira’s temple and places the golden laurel into Almira’s half-up-done hair. “Use it to your advantage,” she whispers against Almira’s temple. “A courtesan can have more influence than a queen likes to admit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Almira can question her queen, she’s moved away, and Estera takes Almira’s hands even as Iriel hugs her. Reida rubs her arm. Then, they all step away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you must keep going,” Xanthe says. “So many lives depend on it, on you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ladies step out of the wardrobe, and the desk drawer slams shut. Lilitu and the other vampires with her are standing around, inspecting the room. Lilitu slides the papers around as she reads through them. There is nothing to read, though, and their lack of regard for the privacy Almira was promised sends a jolt of indignation through her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be smart,” Reida remarks, and Almira flushes. Lilitu glances over at the women. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>My lady</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Reida adds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xanthe runs her hand down Almira’s arm. “We are here for you,” she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iriel nods. Damaris is watching Almira as though she is that old, childhood friend whom she no longer knows. Almira takes her leave with Lilitu, who leads the way down to the consort chambers. Two of the vampires stand guard outside the door where the ladies have agreed to spend most of their time, especially after Almira was able to grant them some privacy. The only issue is the library; they will need to take trips and read strategically so as not to draw attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Lilitu knocks on Blair’s (Almira can hardly bring herself to refer to it as the </span>
  <em>
    <span>consort’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> chambers since Xanthe referred to her as “queen”) door and a familiar voice calls for them to enter, Almira’s heart thumps heavily against her breastbone, reverberating through the rest of her like she was nothing more than a pile of bones being shaken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the morning sun trickling in through the lace curtain, the room is far brighter than it was yesterday. Particles in the air are visible, floating and swirling along. Blair stands from where he sat at the desk and pulls taunt the vest over his shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Updates?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira opens her mouth when Lilitu speaks from behind her. “No,” she says. “The women are secretive, but not troublesome, yet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” he says, picking at a loose string on his vest. “Thank you, Lilitu.” After she’s left, he approaches Almira, gray-lavender eyes looking her up and down so that she forces her back rod-straight. “How are you feeling after yesterday?” he asks. “Unusually cold or feverish at all?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” she bites out. “I would like to get this over with.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you eaten?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hesitates, the question taking her off guard. “No,” she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair lifts his arm towards the table. “I thought so,” he says. “There is a scone and some water and juice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Almira goes to the table, Blair finds scissors to cut the loose string from the vest. The basket-hilted broadsword is still on his dresser. It seems less murderous, though just as fatal, and more grandiose with its crimson and black shining against the light. It looks both light and like it would weigh her down. She has seen even strong warriors struggle to lift swords of which they are unfamiliar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it satisfactory?” Blair is suddenly behind her, and Almira chokes on the scone, coughing and spraying crumbs everywhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make noise or something!” she scolds and takes the silk handkerchief he holds out to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair snickers, sitting next to her. “But then I would not see this side of you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira groans, suppressing an eye roll, and finishes her scone, washing it down with water. She can feel his gaze on her, scorching and pulling her body heat to the surface, turning her ears pink. She puts down the glass with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>clink</span>
  </em>
  <span> and his hand extends towards her. Almira draws back and away. He pauses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t feed,”  he says. “Not yet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she doesn’t move, Blair reaches out again. His touch is cool against her arm, leaving raised gooseflesh trails as his fingers explore up to her shoulder, collarbone, and neck. Feeling her face blush, Almira turns away. Blair peels back the collar of her undershirt, examining his mark on her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s still a little raw,” he murmurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does that matter?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may experience some throbbing or stinging this time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira refuses to look at him. She props her arm up and rests her chin on her hand, staring out through the thin curtains. Large flying shapes hover over the city, their wings as thin and delicate as the curtains, the light turning them orange. On the other side of the city flies a few brave gryphons, their feathered wings solid and strong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hear the trainers are having a hard time,” Blair says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gryphons are headstrong,” Almira says. “They require a firm hand, but beat them and they will turn on you. They need mutual respect, something gryphon trainers know they’ll have to earn over time. Once you do, bonding with them is easier and their demeanor changes completely.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm, dragon’s more often rely on first gut impressions,” Blair says. “It is the bonding that takes time with them due to their independence. They can be quite headstrong, too; getting one to trust you can be almost impossible once it has made up its mind. If you do bond with one, it will never consider another. You become its lifeline. Some die of grief when their trainer or rider passes.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is strange how both lose their nature once they find someone,” Almira mumbles as two dragons spiral around each other, snapping as they play in the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we so different?”  Blair says. “No one stays the same. Are they changing because of us, or have they just come to trust us with their personality?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Must they be mutually exclusive?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not,” Blair says, lips curling into a smirk. “The scone, how was it? Do you have a preferred flavor?” He leans forward, elbows resting atop his knees. “We should make breakfast a habit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s already a habit,” Almira says snarkily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then. . ..” Blair holds his hand out to her. With the light streaming in from the side, the opposite side of his face is cast in shadow, darkening his eye. His bright eye is pale, almost blending into the whites of his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira grips her skirts in her lap. “If it’s all the same--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair stands in one smooth motion and in one step, he stands over her. “I don’t believe you have a choice, my dear. Remember: if you resist, it’ll be all the more painful, and not just for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira, gripping her skirts, stands slowly. “I’ll do it standing,” she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair stands and steps up to her. He stares intensely down at her, his paler eye like a wild cat locking onto a ground squirrel. “It won’t be as comfortable,” he says.  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Almira thinks, not wanting to become comfortable with this. If she does, she’ll grow to enjoy it. She’ll cave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns away from him. With one bony index finger, Blair turns her head, but Almira ostentatiously avoids looking at him. His pale hands go to either side of her face, and she panics as the image of him snapping her neck flashes through her mind. She jerks away from him, out of his grasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” she whispers, hands raising to keep the distance between them. “Don’t do that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you do it yourself?” He sounds doubtful, one dark eyebrow raising. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira grabs her skirts, squeezes, and bends her neck. Blair steps forward and, gently taking her shoulders, bites down. Needles slip through her skin. The grip on her skirts tightens. She counts her breaths. He shifts, and she can feel his teeth move under her skin, in her muscle, searching for her vein. Her hands fly up to grab his forearms. He stills and takes one of her hands in his, squeezing it before relaxing. She returns to her breath, counting. He presses against her, thin but lean and lithe, taking in her shape, taking in her blood, taking in her. She holds on to him, letting him anchor her as she counts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before a crick in her neck can form, Blair withdraws, moving swiftly past her. Almira suddenly feels very cold. Shivers take over. His back to her, he wipes his mouth and eats some mint. A fragile silence has fallen. If the birds outside sing, they go unheard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Blair turns around, he pauses. He moves to his bed, takes the throw blanket off that lays at the end, and pulls it around Almira, lightly dabbing against her neck. She wraps it tightly around herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Starting soon, you’ll be attending the town halls with me,” he says, absentminded with a stroke of melancholy. “The council won’t allow you in the meetings with them, but almost enough have been convinced to let you play some role. That seems the least dangerous to them. Once we--. . . In time, you’ll have more responsibilities.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I cannot marry you,” she whispers to herself, but Blair doesn’t realize. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can,” he says. “You won’t.” He disappears into his wardrobe, returning with a cloak, and a jacket. He tosses the jacket onto the edge of his bed before handing Almira the cloak, then disappears again, this time into the bathroom. There is the sound of bowls being set on counters and water sloshing. Almira peeks in to see Blair mixing water and turmeric in a wooden bowl, a vial of honey set aside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here,” he says, and Almira walks up to him, his cloak wrapped tightly around her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair yanks the cloak back so it falls to one side of her and guides her hair to the same side. As he applies the paste, working in silence, Almira looks everywhere but at him. Besides the turmeric and honey, only another bowl of freshwater sits on the counter. Cabinets house more herbs and soaps and salts. A large claw-footed bathtub rests at the center of the room. The window is shut and without curtains, allowing for a clear view of the city and countryside. People--humans mostly, based on the fashion--walk around, huddled together in groups, from shop to market to home. The farmers, the size of ants from up on the hillside, work with their animals and crops as though nothing has changed. Known to prefer a nocturnal schedule, few vampires walk around in pairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you continue to work in the daytime?” Almira asks when Blair finishes. He begins to pack up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve worked under the sun for many years,” he says, setting aside the paste and putting away the vials. He washes his hand in the basin of freshwater. “Vampires who fought in the war, on the field or off, had to adjust. We learned to fight as well in the daytime as at night. In part, it’s what gave us our edge.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair leads Almira out from the bathroom. “It’s easier to learn to adjust to the daytime than to the nighttime usually,” he says. “Perhaps if it were the other way around, the circumstances would be flipped.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would not mind that,” Almira mutters, watching Blair from the middle of the room. He unties a sheathed knife from his side, hidden under his vest and shirt, to put on a lengthy, black leather belt, wrapping it around twice before slipping his scabbard through a loop on one side and then tying his knife to the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair picks up his jacket and moves to her. A small, playful smile has his mouth twitching upwards. “So long as you didn’t kill me, I’d like to think so, too,” he says. “The consort’s rooms are very comfortable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira frowns and walks past him towards the door. “We’re to meet your Grand Advisor today?” she inquires, sounding strong and professional. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair leans against the pole of his four posters, a reminder to Almira of everything he’d taken from the queen’s room. “Only if you really want to,” he says. “We can always reschedule.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Facing burning, Almira whirls around to stare at the door. “No,” she says. As exceedingly handsome as he is, as often as she told herself that finding the most handsome of men to have fun with is a fabulous way to go about celebrating and living life to the fullest, Almira knew she could not give in. It would not be a celebration then, but the last rites of her kingdom’s (pseudo-) independence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you wish,” Blair says and opens the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lilitu eyes Almira with a perception far from comfortable that makes her push past the vampire guards, out from under their microscopic scrutiny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Humans prefer more well-behaved men,” Lilitu whispers as though Almira is not less than a foot away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> well behaved,” Blair says with mock innocence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we going?” Almira asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair smirks and offers her his arm. She ignores him, and he walks on down the corridor towards the stairs. She waits for a few more vampires to walk past until Lilitu brings up the rear. Their steps fall in line together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much can someone hear from outside the room?” Almira asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. It’s not that your builders failed to prevent spying ears,” Lilitu says with an amused, crooked grin, “but the fact that you opened the door rather forcefully with the look of someone who was either riled up or sufficiently satisfied.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I--” Almira starts to say loudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am stuck in your own Hell, so why should you be satisfied?” Lilitu asks rhetorically and knowingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glaring at the vampire, Almira mutters on about how she is not. A serving girl bows her head and curtsies as they walk past, and Almira is reminded that all eyes are on her. She cannot walk behind any leader now; she is not just a lady-in-waiting. She marches up to Blair’s side. Blair offers his arm once again and this time she takes it, begrudgingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not five minutes later, on the way down to the ground floor, Leandro whispers with three human servants. Almira pulls away from Blair, letting go of his arm and stepping away. They glance at Almira, pain in their eyes, and turn away. Almira feels a dagger being driven into her chest and twisted. They never were meant to see the face of their queen--and now they don’t even look upon a royal face but a mere commoner’s. The shame, the guilt. Almira’s gaze falls downcast as she walks, quickening her pace to at least walk alongside him. She is not their queen, but they need her all the same. Her face will be the one associated with the crown--or lack thereof, now--forevermore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair turns into the drawing-room nearest to the throne room. Paintings line the pale beige walls and a glass candle chandelier hangs from the ceiling. The sofas and armchairs are made of wood and white floral padding, spotting the room, facing either the fireplace or the large arched windows providing a view of the gardens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silver-haired vampire from the other day on the way to the library stands from where they sit by the windows. “My king,” he greets, ignoring Almira’s presence. He appears a few years older than Blair, his face retaining some semblance of youthfulness. She wishes for him to eviscerate on sight, wishing she could do it with her glare alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ascelin,” says Blair, standing between him and Almira. He, too, doesn’t acknowledge Almira so she clears her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seething, Almira says, “Queen Xanthe of Aberdaron, Duchess of Salana.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vampires stare at her, Blair biting his bottom lip as he struggles to not grin and Ascelin sneering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shall we sit, then?” the vampire king asks, his voice a little high, and he clears his throat, regaining composure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit around a small round table, Almira choosing the seat nearest to Blair. He may not be trustworthy, but at least he’s familiar--though Almira is unsure whether it is better to be looked at like one is never satiated and could drink her dry or like one wants to slowly, painfully pull her limbs from their sockets. Neither are particularly appealing fates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now,” Blair says to Ascelin. “Let’s keep to the topic of the town halls.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Ascelin smiles but it is more of a silent hiss, fangs bared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira is well aware that they are keeping tight-lipped only because she is there, but she also knows that she needs to secure this first responsibility before she can even think about getting more involved with the vampires. She purses her lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our </span>
  <em>
    <span>queen</span>
  </em>
  <span> will be sitting with me from now on,” Blair says with such derision it stuns her. Gone is the vampire in the consort’s chambers. Gone is the charisma and allure. He is speaking to an equal whom he does not want to woe into his clutches, into marriage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that such a good idea?” Ascelin says.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She will be able to provide human bias we won’t think of,” Blair says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, they are rather difficult to understand with their dimwitted ways.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira opens her mouth, starting to sputter out an angry retort, only for Blair to talk over her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’ll be able to explain things we have no way of understanding,” he says. “It should make town halls go that much faster. I don’t wish to linger among the people.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They are your subjects!” Almira objects. “You have to!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair and Ascelin give no indication they heard her. Something visceral churns inside her, twisting and boiling. She feels sick. Watch anyone interact with someone they view and equal and you will see the truth. This is the nature of a vampire. Blair, a murderer leading a genocide. Ascelin, a follower, a supporter, one who helps ensure it gets done. She is a speck of dust to them. A piece of meat. Food. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She no longer is listening to them. “If you won’t listen to me now, how can I expect you to listen to me during the town halls?” she demands, interrupting whatever conversation they were having. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you see other humans around?” Blair says. His pale eyes burn into her, willing her to be silent. “There is no need to listen to you now because no interpretations are needed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why did you bring me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To meet my Grand Advisor, of course. Everyone is curious about how the former Aderdaron looks stripped of her modest veil. Now be quiet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you don’t need me here.” Almira stands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit,” Blair hisses. “Or you will be made to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ascelin’s narrowed gaze shifts between his king and his king’s courtesan, his king’s food. That’s all she is to vampires. A tool to be used for a power show. If she doesn’t behave, she might lose her town hall privilege. As meager as it sounds, it is a stepping stone, a much needed one, one she and her queen are desperate for. Reigning in her anger, Almira sits back down. She has never hated being born a human more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have the decisions of the last town hall been met?” Blair inquires, as calm and collected as ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ascelin’s stony leer leaves Almira sluggishly, as though he doesn’t trust her to remain compliant. “All but the one about the whore who bit the artist Yorik. He has many supports who don’t want the human simply locked up for the next several years but publicly executed. They say she would be perfect to be made an example of for the humans to see.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we keep every human who fights back locked up, we will run out of room in the dungeons.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We ought to build--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ascelin.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, the grand advisor’s advice is reduced to nothing. His fair skin flushes at the insult. But when Blair nods in Almira’s direction, Ascelin huffs and calms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he grumbles. “It is something we will discuss when we see the retainers next, then. Many will arrive within the next week.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, but let’s return to the issue of the town halls. Your input?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yorik is right,” Ascelin says. It is not said as a rationalized fact; it is said with disgust. “She needs to be used as an example to the other whores. They need to learn their place now.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You--” Almira starts, rising from her seat when Blair grasps her arm. “You want to make an example out of her, then you will be giving us all the more reason to rebel!” She stands anyways, as awkward and painful as it is to have one of her arms pulled back, keeping her from reaching across the table and clawing Ascelin’s eyes out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair is standing, gripping both of her arms, pinning them to her side, and spinning so he stands between his advisor and her. The bluish-purple tint of his gaze is venomous. One hand grabs her face, nails digging into her cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As unruly as she is,” Blair growls. “She’s right. The girl will be made into a martyr. If anything must change, give Yorik a choice: increase her years of sentence or assign her as his Feeder and let him do with her what he wishes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yorik will see it as an insult.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and your Yorik can kiss a gryphon’s ass!” Almira shrieks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So overcome with blinding rage is Almira that the slap comes as a shock to her. It rattles her bones, shaking her up. She clutches her stinging cheek, gawking at Blair before the realization hits her. “You--” Blair grabs her wrists, spinning her around so her arms cross over her chest and she is pinned against his. “Let me go!” She kicks out when a pair of familiar needles scrap against the back of her neck, and she freezes. “Don’t,” she says, stilled, less frenzied but just as ireful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair shoves her forward so that she trips on her skirts and falls forward. Her palms scrape against the hard flooring, the skin of her palms’ heels rubbed raw. Little spots of blood rise and Almira pulls her hands to her bosom, watching the vampires with wide eyes. Ascelin is not looking at her but Blair, his king, with a sneer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair grabs her wrist, and Almira shrinks away. “Stop,” she says, unsure of what he will do but not liking the idea of bleeding in the sea with two sharks nearby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Act out like that again, dear,” he says lowly, “and you will find yourself with a future not so different from Yorik’s whore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t,” Almira says, her voice wavering, her rebellion having melted into desperation. “I’m the queen. You need me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair pauses just long enough for Almira’s resolve to come crashing back like a great wave against cliffs and for Ascelin’s eyes to narrow. Then, Blair laughs in her face. He lifts her hand and licks her palm, making her squirm to pull her hand away from him. His tongue is scorching hot against the nicks, sucking and drawing out the blood even without piercing her skin. After a moment of further struggle, Blair lets go and Almira gets her hand back. He’s left a tingling sensation behind that slowly dulls into numbness, and when she glances down at her hand, she does a double-take. It’s not that the scrapes have healed up, but that the bleeding has stopped. Numb and not bleeding, Almira gapes at her hand then at Blair, who is exchanging a few words with Ascelin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal with Yorik while I deal with her,” Blair utters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ascelin nods. “Yes, Blair--Ack!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair’s hand squeezes his advisor’s throat. “I trust you’ll show a little more respect next time,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, my king,” Ascelin chokes out and Blair releases him. He falls into a coughing fit, rubbing his neck. He glares murderously at Blair and Almira once Blair is striding back to Almira, towering over her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira scrambles back, trying to get back on her feet, but the skirts weigh too much and are too many. Blair grabs her arms and hoists her up as though she weighs little more than a scrawny ten-year-old. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come with me,” he says, but there is no choice. He maintains an iron-strong, vise-like grip on her upper arm. Sharp pains shoot up and down her arm from where his nails dig into her. He doesn’t look back at Ascelin or the drawing-room, dragging her along, up the stairs, past servants dusting the candelabras and statues that line the corridors. He is headed for the consort chambers, she realizes, and such dread, horror, and fear fill her that she manages to wrench out from his grip, throwing off the couple of vampiric guards that were following them, and dash down the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blair shoves past his own guards in pursuit. Almira nearly makes it to the palace doors, so frightened that the fact that there are vampire guards on the other side who would rather she be raped and killed than escape and never seen again does not enter her mind. Arms wrap around her as she grabs the handles, and she screams, kicking and shrieking. Blair’s arms wrap around hers, pinning them to her torso. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop,” he growls into her ear so that only she hears. “You are making this impossible for the both of us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cries out and bucks her head back, colliding with his nose and mouth. With a shout, he lets go and she flings open the doors and runs--right into the entrance guards. They immediately grab her. Hands wrap around her arms, grab her kicking feet, and finally, Almira is pinned down. She pants, staring past the vampires’ faces and heads, up to the afternoon sky. It’s a clear day, the sky a bright blue, and the sun is a soft ball of light. It’s vast, open, unending. Warm. So warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vampires drag her back into the palace. Blair is straightening his clothes, his hair touseled and shirt untucked. His nose bleeds, his lip split. He looks like he just fought of a small group of rogue humans, not some lady-in-waiting, and even slightly dizzy from the high of the fight, Almira smirks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The servants nearby have stopped their duties and gape at the scene, but the protection their invisibility provides has worn off with this stoppage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did anyone tell you to stop?” Blair snarls at them, a thinly veiled threat behind his words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They instantly snap out of their trance and resume work, stealing glances and working slowly to eavesdrop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lock her up in my room for the rest of the day,” Blair orders. “And watch her ladies. Strip their chambers bare. If she makes another move, kill them all.” He stands over Almira, who is no longer smirking but scowling. He grabs her face, pulling it close so she can smell his blood. “And now you will see what happens when you disobey.” His fingers point to the two servants cleaning the candelabra. “Arrest them. The maid, make her a Feeder. The man, skin him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Almira screams, fighting uselessly against the guards. “No, they didn’t do anything! You can’t!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you,” Blair snarls at her, “have lost all privileges.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almira is begging until they start to take her away from him. As they drag her up the stairs, he begging turns to expletives as she curses him and the vampires, demanding they let her go. She struggles against them all the way to Blair’s chambers, where she is hauled into. She throws Blair’s cloak at the nearest vampire then finds other objects to throw at them, pens, candles, paperweights. They lock the balcony doors, taking the keys in the desk, and lock her in the bedroom. She pounds against the door for what feels like hours, making demands until she returns to begging until all energy has been sapped from her and she realizes where she is and what she has done and what he’s going to do to her and to others because of her. At some point, the golden laurel has either fallen off or she took off; she can’t recall which. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She curses herself, her grandmother, wishing she was more like her mother. Then she would make a good fake queen, maybe. An almost royal. Someone fit to marrying into royalty instead of spending their life as a working woman just waiting to grow into a spinster. Instead of fucking everything up. She thinks of them stripping her queen’s chambers bare right in front of Xanthe. The fear and utter disappointment in Xanthe’s eyes. Almira bursts into tears at the foot of the door, sobbing for hours until even that energy has run out and her eyes grow heavy. Until she welcomes the peaceful, dreamless darkness. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A Deal with the Devil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After the fiasco earlier in the day, Almira has one more shot.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for the 20 reads! Be sure to leave a comment or Kudos if you're enjoying it so I know that you are :) Made a Twitter for my AO3 work. Feel free to contact me @montblancaAO3 with any questions, comments, concerns, etc.</p><p>Lastly, I'm changing the rating to M because it's become obvious that I was dumb in thinking this would stay T rated lolll<br/>Will put it in the notes when there is a (vague, non-explicit) sex scene</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Six: A Deal with the Devil</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Almira groans, hand flying to her head, when the door slams into her. Blair slips through and into the room, locking the door and careful to slip the key into his pocket. Almira jerks up as everything comes flooding back. It wasn’t a nightmare. Her throat hurts, her body aches. She fucked up. </p><p>Blair picks up the golden laurel, places it on the desk, steps around the thrown objects and broken candles, and meanders into his wardrobe. There is some shuffling and when he comes back out after a minute, he’s in black silk pants and slipping into a matching long-sleeve. The blood has been cleaned from his face, likely done hours ago. Behind him, the sun is gone. Unable to see the city from where Almira stays on the ground, rooted in place, outside is pitch black save for the sliver of a silvery moon. He is so pale against the black silk; it must be unnatural how it catches the moonlight. He has spent years fighting in the day to remain so colorless. He’s a creature of the night. Meant to be hidden in the shadows. Underground. Out of sight. Untrustworthy. </p><p>And yet she is the one on the floor in the room he has seized because he could. Because he, destined to hide, broke the laws of nature and changed fate. He should not be in this room, on this land, in this kingdom. And yet. </p><p>“If you want any hope of working together,” Blair says, “then you’ll do as I say.” </p><p>“I cannot,” Almira murmurs, voice hoarse and hollow. “I’ve tried.” </p><p>Blair strides up to her, staring down. She does not look at him, does not fight him. She can imagine the hate and disdain for her existence in his eyes well enough on her own. Then, he kneels. </p><p>“You will,” he asserts. The cut on his lip has scabbed over, dried blood sticks to the edges of his nostrils. </p><p>“Let me be. Let me go. I want to go back to my ladies. I don’t care if they hate me. Being picked apart by them will be better than being with you or any other vampire.” </p><p>“I will say this once,” Blair says stiffly. “You were right. I need you if I want to achieve what I want: a more peaceful, stable reign. But many vampires disagree. They are divided now that the war is over. To subjugate humans, or to not. Different views on how to achieve peace, two versions of peace, that is. Either way, it cannot be seen that you are more powerful than I.” </p><p>Almira looks at him with a mixture of despair and indifference before looking away, staring at his desk. Lacquered, it shines against the moonlight. </p><p>“I want to make a deal with you,” he says. “You behave more passively in public and I will reinstate your privileges. Follow through with your end of the bargain, if you make it, and I will return the two servants to their posts, too.” </p><p>Finally, Almira turns without looking away. He is serious, his face grave, his eyes sunken in from a long day. Exhausted from lack of blood. Queen Xanthe’s voice and a golden laurel enter her mind: <em>Use it to your advantage. </em>Almira’s emptiness is replaced with a growing weight in his stomach and a tightness in her throat. </p><p>Her hand reaches out to touch where she split his lip. He doesn’t move, letting her feel the roughness of the thin scab. </p><p>“Just in public?” Almira whispers, testing. </p><p>“No more split lips,” he whispers back, leaning forward, and there is a kindling inside her. </p><p>“No more public humiliation.” </p><p>“No more mutual public humiliation.” </p><p>Almira cocks her head, making Blair’s shadowed gray-blue eyes narrow ever so slightly. Every moment, every detail is that much more obvious so close up. He lacks the beauty marks that most humans are given, that they collect over time, but she can see how the war has aged him, made him trust less with each twitch and line. He cannot hide it so close. </p><p>Her hand moves to his jaw, her thumb at the edge of his mouth, and she guides him to her. She shuts her eyes, wincing at the initial break of skin as his fangs sink in, and holds onto his hair. His hand releases her grip on his hair and holds it. Ravenous, Blair groans over her. The other hand pulls her closer to him as he falls against her, and they lean against one another, holding tightly onto the other. </p><p>When Blair stops drinking, he doesn’t let her go. His head lulls against her shoulder and she can feel him gulp in long, deep breaths. </p><p>“Breath,” Almira whispers and feels him smile against her, feels a drop of her own blood fall onto her shoulder. Before she can react, he licks it. His teeth are blunt again, except for his canines and lateral incisors which scrap against her skin, making her shudder, but don’t break it. When he kisses her shoulder, Almira pulls away and shrugs his hand off her shoulders. Leaning back against the door, she stands on shaky legs. The skirts hide her knocking knees, but she grips the handle to stay up, feeling like she has not slept in weeks and just drank ten too many coffees. Exhausted but wired. </p><p>Blair is up on his knees in front of her, his lip reopened from feeding, but she doesn’t like the hunger in his eyes or how it churns her insides, she doesn’t want to fall down that rabbit hole and slips away from him and the door. </p><p>“I want to return to my chambers,” Almira says weakly. </p><p>Blair stands and licks his teeth, smearing what blood he doesn’t lick off. With his back turned as he fetches his mint; she touches her neck. Two tiny holes. He never misses, never makes more marks. </p><p>“Very well,” he says. The words carry hang in the air, his voice, dulcet but deep and charged. “Knock and have them return you.” </p><p>“The room, is it. . .?” </p><p>“We will leave for the weekend. We will see how our deal goes,” he says, and Almira blinks in surprise from where she leans into the corner of the walls for support. “Your bed is the only thing returned. For motivation.” </p><p>Almira is too tired and weak and shaken up to rejoin. “Leave? Where?” she asks instead. </p><p>“I have heard the Aberdaron beaches are very beautiful,” he says. “Some are very excited to see them.” </p><p>“It will be chilly,” she says.</p><p>Blair still doesn’t face her, arched over the desk he leans against. “Nothing we aren’t used to.” </p><p>“Yes. Well--” Almira almost wishes him a good night, but it seems strange to wish the enemy good night, so she knocks on the door. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In the queen’s room, there is a long silence as her fellow ladies-in-waiting watch carefully, gazes darting between Almira and their queen. Reida grimaces at her with tangible hatred and contempt. Xanthe walks up to Almira and slaps her across the face. Almira was expecting it, but not with so much force behind it. She almost falls back. </p><p>“What went wrong?” Xanthe demands. “They wouldn’t just take everything for no reason.”</p><p>“They threatened to beat us, to beat--” Reida breaks off, looking to their queen. </p><p>“I, I,” Almira says. </p><p>“Everything is riding on you,” Xanthe hisses. “<em>Millions</em> of lives.” </p><p>“I know,” Almira says. It’s all she can say.  She knows better than to talk back to her own queen. She knows she screwed up. </p><p>Xanthe sits on the edge of the bed. Her bed. The one <em>she</em> still uses at night, even if the rest of the room now lays bare of furniture and decoration. Even the books are gone, not a good sign for their own plans. The bedroom library was the only private one since the vampires came. Almira cannot help the prick of frustration that scratches beneath the surface. She tries to bury it deep, deep down, to ignore it. There is no point in being angry when Xanthe is right to be angry and worried and disappointed. </p><p>“I’m sorry you cannot be out there,” Almira murmurs. “No doubt things already have some semblance of normalcy if you could be in my place.” </p><p>“It’s too soon to think about normalcy. For now, we need to focus on what we <em>can</em> do. At least this place is still private.” Xanthe looks at Almira. “Right?” </p><p>“As far as I can tell,” Almira murmurs, her gaze falling onto the ground in front of her. She wants to make her queen proud, but perhaps it was something never meant to be. “There is something else.” </p><p>Xanthe puts her face in her hands. “What now?” she mutters. </p><p>“I will be allowed to sit in for town halls.”</p><p>Xanthe is on her feet and in front of Almira in a flash. Almira would jerk back from the suddenness, but her queen holds onto her arms. “Tell me you’re not joking.” </p><p>“I’m not,” Almira says. “Blair--”</p><p>Reida scoffs. The other women’s expressions turn sour or worried. </p><p>“--and I came to an agreement,” she says. “It’s not perfect, but I think it will help me to undermine him.”</p><p>“What is it?” Xanthe asks hesitantly, letting go of Almira. The ladies-in-waiting crowd around, listening. </p><p> “I’m to act more passively, and he won’t publicly humiliate me.” </p><p>Xanthe huffs. “And I don’t suppose either of you clarified what exactly ‘public humiliation’ entails?” When Almira facial expression drops, Xanthe continues, “You cannot trust him!”</p><p>“If he breaks his end, I’ll break my end.”</p><p>“If you do that, he’ll have cause to wreak more havoc! Don’t you see?” Xanthe whirls around, letting out a groan of frustration. “I should have had someone bred elite,” she mutters. </p><p>There is no slap to the face, but it stings all the same. Almira blinks rapidly as she feels the tears returning. Her behavior, she can work on. Her breeding? Just moments ago, she cursed her grandmother, misplacing the blame somewhere, but now the insult slices through Almira. She feels a desperate need to tell her queen, to prove her queen wrong. </p><p>“If I act passive,” Almira says, knowing and not caring how high pitched her voice has become with desperation, “then Blair won’t suspect as much.  This weekend we all go to the beach. I can, I <em>will</em> make him believe he can trust me.” </p><p>Xanthe turns slowly back around. She looks at Almira as though she sees her lady-in-waiting with new, cleared sight. “Yes, I know you will." The sudden clarity and calm that has taken over the queen makes Almira’s palms sweat. “You will be the perfect little, well-behaved, pleasing <em>courtesan</em>.” </p><p>“But that would mean--” Iriel starts, but Estera pinches her. The pair pale. </p><p>“But that would be giving in!” Almira protests. “Please,” she falls to her knees, clinging to her queen’s skirts. “Let me try first. I can do it. Please.” </p><p>“Then tell me,” Xanthe says in a low hiss, bending down over Almira. She pulls her skirts from Almira’s grasp. “How do you plan to make up this blunder with a <em>vampire</em> king? You cannot test him so covertly. This is where it gets you: desperate measures. Vampires require <em>deceit</em>, subtle subversion and manipulation. You lack subtly, Almira.”</p><p>“No--I mean, yes, but with this new pact between us I can, I <em>will</em> fix it. He’s. . . different when alone. I can use--” </p><p>“He obviously wants to bed you, and you are playing into the palm of his hand. Just like human men, vampires don’t need marriage to lay claim. At least if you are a courtesan--”</p><p>“I can do it,” Almira says, hands clasped together. “I can do it. I can feed him falsities during town halls and when, when he, he. . .. I can plant seeds without resorting to lowly measures.” </p><p>“I can see you won’t listen to reason,” Xanthe mutters. “Do what you will if you don’t want my advice. Let us all pray your way works in ways it has not yet.” Almira opens her mouth, but Xanthe raises her hand. “I don’t wish to discuss any more with you tonight. It’s time for bed.” </p><p>Almira leans back on her heels, feeling ill. Estera sits down by her as the others assist their queen in preparing for sleep. She must have taken her bath already, for they focus on the sheets and pillows and changing her into sleepwear. </p><p>“Don’t despair,” Estera whispers to Almira. “You are doing your best. It’s all we can ask for. Queen Xanthe, she is just under a lot of stress. Don’t take her harshness personally. If I am honest, when they took away the furniture, I took it as a good sign. I felt a satisfaction I have not felt for a little while. It meant you pissed him off really well. Even if it was a small bit of joy, it was joy nevertheless. You are doing something most people could not. Even our queen’s words about normalcy, even she would not be in an easy position. Be glad she is here with us. Have faith, Almira. We will figure something out.” </p><p>“How?” </p><p>“Maybe you are thinking too black-and-white,” Estera murmurs, hugging and leaning against Almira. “Maybe the future is not what we expect, but we are getting there. Maybe we don’t need to know how, we just need to. . . keep going.” </p><p>“Just because we keep going does not mean anything good.” </p><p>“No, you’re right, but I know you. You are trying to think about the good for the people, too. So, we just have to keep going. Hold on, Almira. At the very least, I will stay with you.”</p><p>Almira takes Estera’s hand and squeezes it. </p><p>“He said we will go to the beach,” Almira murmurs. “I hope you will come, too.” </p><p>“What did you mean when you said he is different when you are alone?” Estera asks, taking Almira aback. </p><p>“He is cruel in front of others,” Almira explains, resting her head on Estera’s shoulder as their queen slips under her covers. “It’s not so much that he is nice, but he at least isn’t constantly cruel.” </p><p> “Which is real?” </p><p>“I think both,” Almira laments. “He simply knows how to get what he wants, if the war if any proof.” </p><p>Estera stands and, taking Almira’s hands, helps her to her feet. They go into the wardrobe, where Estera helps Almira out of her layers of clothing. </p><p>“We can’t deny that he’s good at getting what he wants,” Estera mutters. </p><p>“Unfortunately, no,” Almira says. Sweat gathers where the fabric clung tightly against her, particularly around the ribs and waist. Changing into loose, light sleepwear instantly has Almira feeling sleepy and ready for bed. “But that doesn’t bode well for us.” </p><p>Estera grabs Almira’s face, making her look into her caramel eyes. “Don’t think like that,” she says. “Or it will.” </p><p>Almira pulls out of Estera’s grip. “I’m not superstitious,” she says. </p><p>Estera tugs at the pins in her hair and the red spins out of its confines, rolling down her back. “No, just cynical. Come on, let’s get to bed. You look exhausted.”</p><p> “I think it has become a permanent state of mine.” </p><p>“It’s not from the. . . you know.” </p><p>“I hope not.” Almira leaves the wardrobe. She spots the laurel headwear on the ground by the door and goes to pick it up. It’s light, she usually forgets it's even on during the day. She can’t imagine forgetting that a crown sits on your head. Perhaps that is why royals are so well behaved; they have their own weighty reminders. Almira puts it away in the wardrobe before curling up with Estera on the floor with a shared, woolen blanket. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. To the Beach Part I: Fear of the Townspeople</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>First half of the journey to the beach (ended up being a long chapter at ~5K so decided to split it in half)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Seven: To the Beach</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Part I: Fear of the Townspeople  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“Get up, hurry.” Someone is dragging Almira before she even wakes the next morning. </p><p>“Oi,” she says groggily, lazily struggling. </p><p>“They’re coming earlier than normal,” Damaris says, and Almira bolts up. “Reida overheard them say they’re coming in, too.” </p><p>The queen’s bed is already empty, Iriel holding open the sheets. “Get in, quick!” she calls in a whisper. </p><p>Almira jumps onto the bed, pulling the sheets over herself. The others rush to lay back down without making too much noise, Xanthe taking Almira’s place. There is a rustle at the door, a clicking noise, and then the door swings open with a creak. Almira is glad she pulls the covers over her head, unable to relax enough to even feign sleep. </p><p>“Maybe one of them talks in her sleep,” a vampire says. </p><p>“Doesn’t matter,” Lilitu says. “Aye, time to wake up! You are all to pack and be ready within the hour for the beach. Anyone will not be left behind.” </p><p>Xanthe is the first to rise. Reida fake yawns. Almira peeks out from under the covers. Lilitu is staring at Xanthe, who is still in her regal sleepwear. She looks at Almira, who stays undercovers in her plain nighty. Almira’s heart leaps into her throat, but then Lilitu mutters something about poor human taste and leaves. Relieved, Almira slumps against the pillows and lets out a breath. </p><p>“Get out of there,” Reida says, tugging at the duvet to catch Almira’s attention. “Don’t forget, you’re not really the queen.” </p><p>Ignoring Reida, Almira hurries to get ready. Almira, used to being in charge of selecting the queen’s clothes in a hurry, makes quick enough progress that she can help her queen to pack her lady-in-waiting clothes. </p><p>“Shouldn’t we at least be allowed servants for this?” Xanthe mutters. </p><p>Almira goes back into the wardrobe to change and finds the last of her own clothing gone. Nothing but vampiric dress left. She fishes through them, trying to find the least tight and least revealing--though they all are one or the other--especially after last night. </p><p>“No, no, no,” Almira whispers. </p><p>“Oh,” Iriel says behind Almira, making her jump. “What about that one?” </p><p>“It looks like I should be watching over someone’s last rites. Plus, this is the beach.” </p><p>“Half of these are velvet,” Iriel says. “Not exactly beach-friendly. Do you want some of the skirts I took?”</p><p>“You took from here?” Almira asks. </p><p>“They took our chests last night, too,” Iriel says. “Didn’t you know?” </p><p>Almira grinds her teeth. “No,” she says. “Keep the skirts. I’ll wear this.” She picks an ivory dress with black lace. “And I will get your chests back. This is barbaric.” </p><p>“The dress?” </p><p>“No,” Almira says in wonder, marveling at the dress. “This is. . . <em>gorgeous</em>.” Iriel gazes at her. “From a seamstress and designer point-of-view.” </p><p>“You’ll certainly be playing the part of the more dutiful courtesan.” </p><p>“I am <em>not</em> a courtesan,” Almira snaps. </p><p>“Right. Sorry. Then. . .?” </p><p>“Just help me into it.” </p><p>By the time Almira is dressed and pushing her laurel into her hair, Lilitu returns with more vampires. Many wear plain uniforms without weapons. Servants. They carry whatever the women have packed away. </p><p>“Let’s go,” Lilitu tells them. She looks Almira up and down and flashes a pleased smile. “You’re with me.” </p><p>“We can’t travel together?” </p><p>“Blair doesn’t want you with them for extended amounts of time,” she says.  “And an extensive time alone with him will allow certain fires to blow out.” </p><p>“No, I’m not--” Almira makes to slip past Lilitu, but the vampire is quicker. She blocks Almira’s way. </p><p>“I’d really rather not drag you out by your hair,” she says. “Do you really want to make another scene? I don’t think the king will be able to save you from another one.” </p><p>“I will not--” Almira bellows when Lilitu’s words register. “Save? What do you mean?” </p><p>“Walk,” Lilitu says, nodding towards the stairs. Reluctantly, Almira does as she wants. Lilitu walks by her side. “You didn’t really think there wouldn’t be some backlash after you insulted the Grand Advisor and embarrassed the king? Most want you dead or worse, made a Feeder.” Almira blanches. “No, don’t worry. It was only half the council who voted that way, but Blair has his way with words and those on the fence eventually switched sides. It took all day, but he convinced them you would be broken, like a wild horse. That you’d behave. Those who voted in your favor did so more out of curiosity and a chance at a wager, but a few see the sense in it, see a chance at peace.” </p><p>“<em>Only</em> half, hm?” </p><p>“After what you did, it was initially nearly two-thirds of the council who wanted you executed or thrown out into the streets.” </p><p>“Do you often watch the council meetings?” </p><p>“Watch them?” Lilitu laughs. “I’m a member!” </p><p>“Then you know--”</p><p>“I’m not telling you anything,” Lilitu says. </p><p>They step outside into the quad, where satiny, black horses paw at the ground and matching coaches awaiting them. It’s still dark outside, the sliver of a moonlighting the stony ground and cool air. Almira is brought a shawl by one of the servants. She wraps it tightly around herself as Lilitu leads her to one of the carriages. The carriage dogs lap up their last chance for a drink until the next stop, while the outrider and footman check their belongings one last time. </p><p>Lilitu helps Almira into the carriage, where a thick, furry lap robe waits for her. She slips under it, pulling it up to her neck, and lets the weight calm her as she waits for her own body heat to help her warm up. </p><p>“I will be traveling with the coachman,” Lilitu says with a smirk. “If you need anything, madame, just knock on the roof.” </p><p>“Madame,” Almira mutters under her breath, which is visible this early in the morning. She settles into the cushioned seat, resting her head against the window. Her drowsiness soon takes over her apprehension. Almira sleeps only for a few moments when a draft blows in and prickles against her cheeks and shoulder, the lap robe having slipped down from her languor. She blinks her eyes open at the sound of the door opposite her shutting and shivers under the cold. </p><p>An equally cold hand pulls the bear blanket over her, and Almira jerks, wide awake. Blair’s gray eyes widen, his hand pulled back. She presses against the door of the coach. </p><p>“What are you doing?” she says, though she knows the answer. </p><p>“Traveling,” he says and sits across from her. There is more than enough room for two more people, and Almira feels small in the confined space. “And you?” </p><p>She <em>tsk</em>s with a click of her tongue and pulls the blanket back up over her shoulders. “Sleeping,” she grumbles, trying to remember what position she was in when she fell asleep so easily just seconds ago. Instead, all she feels are his eyes on her. Watching. Waiting. “Stop staring. You--” Almira bites her tongue, remembering their deal. “Please,” she spits out venomously, squeezing her eyes shut. </p><p>There is the sound of shifting cloth against the leather seats, then stillness. Those chatting outside, the dog barks, it all comes from somewhere far off. The carriage lurches forward, Almira going with it as the one under the driver, and her arms fly out. </p><p>Blair looks down at her from where she has half-fallen onto him with a spark in his eyes. “I prefer you’d keep to staring, my dear,” he says, shutting his eyes again as she draws back. “Perhaps another time, though.” </p><p>Almira huffs and resettles herself for the third time in less than ten minutes. But now she’s peeved, and the surge of adrenaline still courses through her from the shock of flying towards Blair. She stares out the window, pressing her forehead against the cold glass in hopes it will freeze her nerves and let her sleep. The moon’s brightness is already beginning to wane as burnt orange lines the horizon. She watches it fade, fading with it as the carriage rocks along the city’s gravel road and the sun rises. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>By the time the carriages reach their next destination, where the horses are to be changed out, the sun has risen. Its warmth melts the chill and stiffness that seeped into Almira’s bones during the ride over, but no one else walks or plays under its summery rays. It is not yet late morning, but early enough that people ought to be up and working. Only the innkeeper and lackeys are coming outside. They take longer ways around the horses and coaches to avoid the vampires. The town looks desolate and abandoned. </p><p>When Blair takes Almira’s hand to help her from the coach, she spots two children duck around the corner of a bakery with a sign reading ‘BACK TOMORROW.’ Evidently, they have begun their day, just in hiding. </p><p>Two vampires approach the bakery. Almira is about to fake a twisted ankle when Blair calls out to them. </p><p>“Not here,” he says. </p><p>The vampires look as though they want to protest as they drag their feet back to the coaches. </p><p>Once she is sure that the other vampires got the memo, Almira strolls down the street to help stretch her legs, Blair trailing behind. Movement in the windows of shops, sudden banging of windows closing, and shop signs being flipped to ‘CLOSED,’ all indicate fearful townspeople. Almira glances back at the coaches. A group of vampire soldiers stands around her ladies and queen. Estera is the only one talking, probably trying to distract the others from growing overly anxious or from Reida attempting to strangle a vampire. </p><p>The black draft stallions are immaculate but intimidating, massive, hulking beasts with fur that glints against the sun as much as their beady, black eyes. Not as tall as someone the Belgians bred by human trainers, these horses intimidate through their looks more than girth and height with lengthy manes and tails. A huff from one sniffing at the dirt sends up a cloud of dust. It snorts and sneezes, shaking its head. Its long mane sways back and forth with the movement. </p><p>“Do you want to pet one?” Blair asks. “They are very friendly.” Almira looks dubiously at him. “No, really, they are--rather funny creatures, too. Watch.” </p><p>Blair walks over to where fresh horses await to replace the tired ones. When Blair approaches one, its ear flicks and it turns to Blair. He pets the neck, and it rubs its head on his arm. </p><p>“See?” he calls from where he stands. Overdressed standing next to the beasts in a small town with dirt roads, Blair could not stick out more.  </p><p>Almira walks further away from him, going to the bakery. She walks around the corner, spotting whom she assumes to be a brother and sister. She kneels a distance away from them. </p><p>“Are they really friendly?” the sister asks. </p><p>“Sssh,” the brother whispers, placing a hand over his little sister’s mouth. “She could be <em>one</em>.”</p><p>Almira smiles at them, showing off her teeth. “I promise I’m not,” she says. “If you stay with me, they won’t come close to you. Do you want to see the horses? That’s why you came out, right?” </p><p>“Well, the coach looks fine, too,” the brother says. “Ma’am.” </p><p>“You must be one of them noble ladies,” murmurs the little girl in awe, having shoved her brother off. “My mama has picture books, but I’s never seen a dress like <em>that</em>!” </p><p>“What’re your names?” Almira asks. </p><p>“I’m Aurelia, and this here’s my sis Itza. House of Neven. What house you come from, ma’am?” </p><p>Almira doesn’t want to give the queen’s name and freak out the children, but she can’t give her own name in case they say something. So, she says, “Karmine.” Her grandmother’s family. </p><p>“That don’t sound so regal,” says Itza. Aurelia’s hand flies back over his sister’s mouth, but Almira just laughs. </p><p>“She don’t know nothin’,” Aurelia says before muttering, “Shut up, Ittie.”</p><p>“Do you want to see the horses?” Almira asks, and the pair nod vigorously. Itza’s head looks as though it might snap off and roll away. She stands and holds out her hands. “Come.” </p><p>When Almira walks out holding the hands of two village children, all eyes turn to her. The horses that had taken them this far were in the middle of being switched out but one look from Blair and one of the lackeys leads a horse over to Almira. Its head bobs up and down and as it reaches them, a shadow falls over them. The children press against Almira, so she is the first to reach out and pet it. </p><p>Then, Itza tugs on her arm. She picks up the little girl while Aurelia pets along the shoulder and flank of the horse. </p><p>“He’s got huge feet!” Aurelia exclaims. </p><p>“Wow,” Itza murmurs, holding up a hand that was dribbled onto. It glistens with horse slobber. </p><p>“Wow indeed,” Almira says as she looks around for something to wipe the girl’s hand off before she is turned into a human handkerchief. </p><p>Itza’s hands bug-out as her hand is wiped off by another. Blair hands the dirty handkerchief to the little girl. </p><p>“It’s yours,” he says.</p><p>As if under a spell, Itza pulls the handkerchief close to her chest, gawking at the vampire in front of her. Almira keeps trying to glance meaningfully between Blair and the coaches several paces away. </p><p>“Our mam’s will want us back,” Aurelia says in a shrill voice, taking Itza from Almira. “Thank you so much, Milady.” </p><p>Aurelia and Itza run off into the bakery. A woman yanks them further in once they pass through the door. Blair’s face has turned as hard, cold, pale, and fragile as limestone, as though the tough surface layer is bound to flake away as soon as a breeze sweeps past. He walks stiffly back to the coaches. With one last glance at the seemingly empty bakery, Almira goes to him, softly pressing her hand to his arm. </p><p>“What? What?” Blair demands as if speaking to a servant, not looking at her first. When he turns, he goes, “Oh. The horses will be ready in moments. Go to the coach.” </p><p>Pursing her lips at the order, Almira obeys. No public humiliation from either side. Unfortunately for Almira, that means no taking back. She climbs into the coach, given a hand by the coachman, and slips under her bear skin. The fur is somehow both smooth and coarse, the edges tough. She runs her hands over it, watching the town from inside until Blair climbs in. He is silent and with a pinched expression, brooding. Almira cannot imagine what to say to make him feel better; it would all be lies and they would both know it. The more disturbing fact is that she wants to make him feel better. So, neither speak as the carriages move on, Almira bracing to keep from falling into Blair’s lap again, both sulking. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I admit I am not a horse owner, rider, etc. So apologies to everyone who knows what they are talking about because I do not, though I did try and do some research to hopefully at least make it realistic. If you have any info/tips when it comes to horses, please, please lmk--esp. bc they are fairly prominent in this story</p><p>In terms of what I based these horses off of, I was originally thinking about Friesians (I know, how original) but ended up going for less mind-blowing-gorgeous sleek and more simple sleek lol I looked into a couple of different draft breeds for reference: The Belgian and Clydesdale (and a bit of the Shire Horse, too) I kept in mind for the horses bred/owned by humans, while for the vampires' horses, I was going more for Percherons and Irish Draught. Trying to avoid too much referencing to things we would know about in our own world to keep it in the "low-fantasy" feel. Friesians do show up later bc ~beauty~</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. To the Beach Part II: The Heather Fields</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Second half of the journey to the beach.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Seven: To the Beach</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Part II: Heather Fields </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The breaks are every two to three hours, depending on the horses. Neither Almira nor Blair speaks during the next two legs of the trip. Almira gets out to take a short walk each time, and each time she ignores any locals she spots slipping away to hide. She cannot blame them. She’s jealous of them with somewhere to run and hide. This portion of the kingdom was safe from the war, too. Perhaps not economically, but certainly physically and geographically. Nothing is being rebuilt from fires. No one has been turned. The horses pull them through woodlands of bare trees and littered leaves and green rolling hills with the occasional bunches of trees at their foothills. The landscape grows flatter as they draw nearer to the sea, the hills smaller and the woodlands sparser. </p><p>After the fourth stop, Almira can see the shadows of the far-off western mountains where the border lies. It makes her chest tighten. The silence within the carriage is deafening. She can feel every rock, hear every stamp of a hoof, hear and feel every puddle they drive over. She daydreams of the past, of simpler and freer times. She dreams of a different present and a more attractive future. She drifts in and out of dreams, from talks and hugs with her grandmother to the feel of cradling new fabrics to the touch of a former lover. </p><p>A hand grazes her cheek, running down her neck, down her side. A kiss growing deeper. Lips lowering. Blunt teeth nip playfully at her jawline. Lower, to her jugular. Another kiss. Lower still. She arches, pulling him to her decolletage. He bites--<em>hard</em>, teeth sinking in. She struggles, pulling at his shirt, his hair. He sinks further into her. Not just his fangs but his being. She breathes him in until she cannot breathe without him. She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe. Suffocating, she jolts awake, sucking in air so harshly and deeply that it makes a squeaking sound in the back of her throat. </p><p>Almira coughs, panting. Blair stirs across from her. Bleary eyes fall on her. </p><p>“Are you alright?” he says raspily. </p><p>Almira clears her throat. “Yes, fine,” she says, feeling the heat rise in her face and neck. “Go back to sleep.” That blasted neck. The bite is sore, and she blames the dream. Rubbing it, she wills the discomfort away. </p><p>Blair blinks at her, still half-asleep. “A nightmare?” he asks. </p><p>Almira shifts, growing more and more uncomfortable under his prying, perceptive eyes. If they remain too long on this topic, she is afraid he will find out without her even having to say anything. </p><p>“It’s nothing,” she says. “We should be arriving soon.”</p><p>Blair looks out the window at the flattened landscape, giving her a chance to steal a glance. It’s become obvious he hasn’t eaten all day, and it’s frightening how much skipping one meal has impacted him: dull skin, sunken-in and hollowed eyes, pain etched into his frown and brow, and a general lack of energy throughout the travels, despite most of it being spent couped up. Though Almira knows his cheeks have always sunk in slightly, that coupled with the rest of his appearance make him seem gaunt. </p><p>“What will the living situations be like?” Almira asks.</p><p>“Have you not been to the queen’s beach home?” Blair asks, nonplussed.</p><p>“Oh,” Almira murmurs and then she remembers. “But then—”</p><p>“You may spend the nights with your ladies,” he says. “Though you may find it cramped.” He means they may all sleep in the two guest bedrooms. Unlike the castle at the capital, there is only one master suite, which is what gave Almira the initial jolt of anxiety.</p><p>“And. . . feeding?”</p><p>“From the time you’re ready for the day to the time you’re ready to sleep, you’ll be with me,” Blair says. At his next words, he looks at her with such intensity she cannot help sinking back slightly. His voice takes on a sharp edge, “Feedings are private, but they may sometimes join you during more leisurely moments.”</p><p>“Do you—” Almira stops, horrified with herself. <em>Do you want to feed? </em>Not do you need, but do you <em>want</em>.</p><p>“What?” Blair says so sleepily, so quietly she almost misses it.</p><p>“What?” Almira echoes then says hurriedly, “Nothing, I was thinking aloud.”</p><p>“Do your nightmares always make you this jumpy?”</p><p>“Does your—” She lets out a grunt of annoyance, and Blair smiles. He no longer looks gaunt or hungry but amused, even happy, and his drowsiness, even as it slows melts away, gives him a languid countenance. </p><p>“You said that on purpose, didn’t you?” she demands. </p><p>“I told you, this is a test weekend for the deal,” he says, shrugging off his bear skin. “I’m simply testing.”</p><p>“It’s not fair.”</p><p>“Being around more vampires will be much harder.” Blair moves to her side of the coach. Almira hops over to the opposite side. </p><p>“What are you doing?” she demands. The coach is much too small to fight him off and there is no possibility of Lilitu or the coachman helping her.</p><p>“Testing,” he says, arms stretched out along the back of the seat. He leans back even as he eyes her like a starved dragon. “I’m hungry.”</p><p>“Why would I be around more of you?” she says.</p><p>“Provide and see how kind I can be,” he says, echoing when they first faced each other.</p><p>“This is hardly kind,” she mutters, desperately grasping for something to get him to leave her alone. She has grown afraid of the feeding times. She loses control—even more than usual. “You’ve given me nightmares.”</p><p>The black panther inside Blair stops crouching but she can still see the tail twitching in his impatient expression.</p><p>“What kind?” he asks, not unkindly but he doesn’t hide his impatience or hunger either.</p><p>Almira doesn’t answer, thinking of what to say. She certainly can’t tell him the truth.</p><p>“Very terrible ones?” Blair sits forward, his arms dropping from the top of the seat.</p><p>“Yes,” Almira lies warily.</p><p>“You dream of a war?” He creeps forward centimeter by centimeter, so Almira doesn’t notice, too enticed by the colored speckles in his pale eyes that give them that blue-violet tint.</p><p>“Uh-uh-a battle.” She has sunken back instinctively, but it pins her into the coach’s corner.</p><p>“A duel?” Blair’s arms lift, resting on either side of her. She could slip under them, but there is nowhere to go.</p><p>Almira starts to sink further down when she stills. Blair searches her face, breaking eye contact. There may be nowhere to go but showing fear has only encouraged him. Almira sits up straight, but Blair does not move. An arm’s length away is too close.</p><p>“Yes, a duel,” she says with more confidence. “I kill you.”</p><p>Blair’s head tilts to the side. “Do you?”  he asks, unperturbed by the prospect. “How? Do you know how to kill a vampire? So many books say so many different things, how do you know which to trust?”</p><p>“The ones written by experts not driven by politics helps,” Almira says. Moments ago, she felt as though she couldn’t move. Now she won’t. “In mythology, it takes the sun. In fiction, it takes a stake to the heart to weaken you enough to behead you, which is what really kills you. In reality, you are little more than over glorified, speedy humans.”</p><p>Blair locks eyes with her. “Don’t forget more cunning and alluring. Did you know the young snakes will use their tails to draw in prey?”</p><p>“I’m not moving,” Almira says pointedly.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Even as he leans forward, she says, “Then you’ll remember what I said about touching me. I know where you keep your daggers.” She smirks up at him. “You told me.”</p><p>Blair half rolls his eyes, a lopsided, half-hearted smile curling one corner of his mouth up. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?” he murmurs and sits back. He sighs, lifting and crossing his legs onto the seat beside Almira. “I’m still starving.”</p><p>Almira looks out the window. Heather stretches as far as she can see, washing the scenery in beautiful sage and lavender, bathing under the golden and pink and indigo sunlight as it sinks behind the mountainous horizon. Half of the sun has already disappeared.</p><p>“I forgot,” she marvels. <em>How utterly beautiful.</em></p><p>Blair bangs on the ceiling of the carriage and it slows to a stop. Lilitu hops off as it slows. The coachman opens the door, helping Almira out, and she pulls her shawl around her bare shoulders in the chilly air. She spots the other carriage continuing on.</p><p>“Hey, wait,” she calls out when Blair tugs at her arm.</p><p>“Come,” he says, motioning for her to go to his side. “How far is it?”</p><p>“Too far to walk!” Almira protests, gazing out over the unending heather.</p><p>“What about riding?”</p><p>“The horses are tired.”</p><p>“Nonsense, they were just changed.”</p><p>“Neither of us knows the way.”</p><p>“We’ll keep the path in sight.”</p><p>“We don’t have the proper gear, <em>and</em> I’m in a dress.”</p><p>“We do, <em>and</em> you could ride with me.”</p><p>“I—”</p><p>“Lilitu, would you like to ride with us?”</p><p>Lilitu grins at Almira. “No, thank you, my king,” she says to Almira’s relief.</p><p>Blair <em>tsk</em>s. “That better be the only time you choose her over me,” he says, but Lilitu is gutsy enough to ignore her king and go to the chest at the back of the coach. She is either fearless or the threat is empty; probably both. Either way, Almira wonders about the exchange and recalls her talk with Estera. Both sides of him are masks, and masks make the person. This is a new mask.</p><p>The coachman unhooks two of the horses, bringing them around to Lilitu. Meanwhile, Almira walks into the sea of green, magenta, pink, and lavender. The sweet yet earthy, floral and herbal aroma fills her lungs and covers her palms as she rubs plucked racemes between her hands. She exhales the stale, stuffy air of the coach. A breeze comes from behind, carrying with it mint and something metallic.</p><p>Blair picks a stock and lifts it to his nose. He holds it out to her. “Fair lady, will you marry me now?”</p><p>Almira stares at him in aversion. “Do vampires get delirious when they haven’t fed for a while?” she says bitterly.</p><p>“Do humans when they haven’t eaten?” He tosses the heather.</p><p>“You’ll fall off your horse.”</p><p>“I have fought and won wars with less blood in my system. I won’t fall off some horse.” Blair holds up his arm, gesturing to the readied horses. “Surely a queen enjoys a good ride?”</p><p>Not appreciating his vulgar humor, Almira stomps past. “Don’t insult a queen,” she hisses as she passes him.</p><p>“So you’ll join me?”</p><p>Almira doesn’t respond. She does miss trail riding, but she can’t imagine riding with Blair’s obnoxious mouth in tow will be as enjoyable as the memories of riding with her mother as a tot or her father teaching her or riding as a family. Away from the city, it was one of the few times Almira felt close to her parents. Then, she would ride with Queen Xanthe on occasion as one of the few ladies-in-waiting who felt confident around and on horses.</p><p>Almira and Blair mount their respective stallions. Blair watches Almira as she gently but firmly wrangles with the horse for a moment until he listens to her and moves away from the coaches. She never kicks, knowing it will destabilize her and be an unclear signal to the horse. The horse is more likely stressed than anything. She reads it well and with a trained hand.</p><p>“At the last stop, I spoke with the hackneyman and he said the horse is having some pain with his teeth,” says the coachman.</p><p>“Why are they having him work?” Almira asks.</p><p>The coachman shrugs. “He’s a work animal, Milady,” he says. “He’s still got a job to do.”</p><p>Almira runs her hand down the horse’s neck. “Not until whatever is causing him pain is resolved,” she says. “Look at it from a business point of view: the problem will be fixed sooner, and he will be back to normal. If you let it fester, you risk him acting out.”</p><p>“Beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but in that case he’d be made into glue.”</p><p>“We’ll take the horse,” Blair says. “We’ll give the company another healthy one. The exact same but healthier. I’m sure there is one the stableboy can find for you.” </p><p>The coachman’s small eyes narrowed so that they are barely visible above his chubby, wind-burned cheeks. He obviously doesn’t trust a vampire, but he doesn’t speak out against his new king either. He probably thinks he will have to explain how the vampire king stole one of their horses.</p><p>“I will see to it myself,” Almira says, and his face opens a measure.</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty.”</p><p>Blair spurs his horse forward, a look of ire on his face, and he races away into the heather.</p><p>Lilitu walks around the coach and slips into the carriage. Almira can see her shadowed outline through the glass even as darkness falls. The she-vampire stretches and lays down.</p><p>“Travel safe,” Almira tells the coachman.</p><p>“Thank you, Your Majesty!” he says, taken aback.</p><p>Almira nods and guides her horse into pursuit. Blair has his stead running at a gallop, so Almira sets the pace for a trot. It doesn’t take long for Blair to slow his horse’s gait and return to Almira.</p><p>Blair grins at her, his fangs sharp and defined. He spins his horse once more, and they carry on like that, with Blair slightly ahead, as the sun sets. It has already disappeared behind the mountains and only takes a few more minutes for its light to go out like a blown candle. Though thin, the moon provides ample light and Almira trusts her stallion’s sharper vision. Still, they are careful to keep the trail within sight, watch what lays ahead, and keep the horses’ gaits slow and steady.</p><p>When the beach comes into sight, Blair stops and dismounts. In a dress, Almira has little choice but to slip into his arms. He sets her down and tucks the reins into one of the shrubs.</p><p>“Where are you going?” Almira asks, slightly alarmed.</p><p>“I’m a creature of the night,” he says. There is an energy to his voice that Almira has never heard before. It’s almost youthful in his excitement. “Trust me.” He looks from her to the expansive shrubbery all around. They’ve nearly reached its edge, where heather gives way to soft sand.</p><p>Almira snorts and walks further into the heather, parallel to the edge but not drawing any closer. Blair follows.</p><p>“Must you follow me everywhere?” she asks, half joking, running her fingers through the plants as she weaves through the shrubbery. “It’s like an unwanted dog you fed one too many times.”</p><p>“The dog cannot help it if you have become the source of its survival.”</p><p>A group of shrubs are too close together for Almira to pass them, as slinky as the vampiric dress is. She doesn’t want to risk ripping it and backtracks, stopping a pace away from Blair.</p><p>“And sometimes the master has no choice but to see the dog if they live in the same city,” Almira says. “May I pass?”</p><p>Blair takes Almira’s hand. “It’s always a choice,” he says. She lets him lead the way, curiosity getting the better of her as he snakes through the heather. He has the vision for it. They wander further without running into any obstacles, just like when he led the way with the horses.</p><p>“Yes, in the same way that living or dying is a choice,” she mumbles, and Blair stops. He runs his hands up her arms.</p><p>“Exactly,” he says.</p><p>Telling herself she is feeling unusual generous because the long travel has made her weary, Almira tilts her head slightly as he bends down.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Courtesan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Queen Xanthe gets an idea, much to Almira’s horror.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another chapter that felt a little too long and is getting split for AO3 (trying to keep chapters under 3500 words on here). If there are preferences for chapter lengths, lmk :) </p><p>And ofc, thank you thank you for the kudos and 50+ hits!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Eight: The Beach</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Part I: The Courtesan  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Almira stirs among the soft, supple, silken sheets and pillows. She freezes, the last week’s nightmare not lost on her. hurriedly sitting up, she looks around to see where her queen is, unable to believe she’d been so stupid as to fall asleep—</p><p>Almira’s thought breaks off as a new horror crashes down on her. Her hand goes to her chest and feels the hardness of her dress’s corset. She is still in yesterday’s clothes, but the last thing she remembers is dozing off on the horse.</p><p>Blair walks out dressed in fine linen. “I thought they would rather you sleep here,” he says with the clearness that comes with a morning person and the bitterness of one whose day has already soured, “than I enter, even just to leave you with them, based on every human’s reaction on the way here.”</p><p>Almira can think of nothing to say for once.</p><p>“You’re quiet,” he remarks, and it is enough to snap her out of her trance.</p><p>“You could have called on Lilitu!”</p><p>“She was already sleeping.”</p><p>“Then someone else!”</p><p>“We agreed your private bedroom is private from vampires.”</p><p>“Arh!” Almira huffs, grumbling as she scoots to the edge of the bed. “Next time, a vampire is allowed in, okay? Or at least drop me in front of the door. <em>Something</em>! You, you—"</p><p>“Ah, ah, ah,” he lilts in mock warning. “Don’t forget our agreement, my dear.”</p><p>“Then this counts as public humiliation!”</p><p>“I don’t see any public. I see you and me.”</p><p>“You know what I mean.”</p><p>“I assure you, I haven’t the foggiest.”</p><p>“Why you—” Almira breaks off, standing from the bed and marching to the door. It’s locked, and she twists at it angrily.</p><p>“Lolotte,” he calls softly, teasingly, holding up a key.</p><p>Almira is about to march back to him when he strides across the room. She stares, quiet but defiant, up at him until he unlocks the door, and she, having been to the beach house before, dashes off to the nearest guest room.</p><p>Tiled floors of six-pointed stars and wooden stairs and climbing ivy. The two-story beach château is all white and beige with accents of light but warm shades of blue and gray, lying over a wine cellar filled with a collection that took generations. <em>Portes-fenêtres</em> and Palladian windows allow the salty air to sweep through, carrying out the stale, dusty air, and for its occupant to step out into the sand from almost any room on the ground floor. Its covered balcony wraps around the house so a complete view of the scenery; the portion near the master, part loggia to give the owners choice and the ability to watch their surroundings no matter the weather. On the side of the house, those entitled to the master suite can see both the side of flourish heather and the side of roaring waves. The château is a bijoux surrounded by heather and waves, not another home for miles.</p><p>The nearest guest bedroom is all golds and whites with a window that opens out to the balcony, a fireplace, and a sitting area. It includes one massive bed that could fit three of the women, four if they didn’t mind being snug. It is the larger of the two guest rooms, providing greater space for the bath and wardrobe. With the sun rising, the candles are extinguished.</p><p>All the ladies-in-waiting and Queen Xanthe are bustling about to finish getting ready for the day, but they stop when Almira comes barreling in.</p><p>Almira presses against the door, catching her breath. She bows quickly to her queen, bidding her a good morning, and that seems to do it.</p><p>“What have you done?” Queen Xanthe murmurs.</p><p>“Nothing,” Almira says a little too defensively. “I fell asleep because of the travel, that is all.”</p><p>“That is all?” she yells before falling quiet again with a glance at the door.</p><p>Almira stays in her curtsy, knowing better than to look her queen in the eyes now. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she says. “I have my pride.”</p><p>“You have your <em>pride</em>,” she sneers. “Well, was it worth it? Did he—” The queen stops ranting, prompting Almira to chance a peek. Xanthe has paused, her eyes roaming over nothing material, her mind forming an idea. She smiles. “Did he, by chance, say anything of use?”</p><p>“I swear—” Almira begins, but her queen is not listening. </p><p>“As a <em>courtesan</em>, not just in title, you could be much more. . . <em>stealth</em> than you have been. It is not wholly a terrible idea, Almira.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty.” Inwardly, Almira is screaming. It is wholly, utterly, completely a terrible, petrifying idea!</p><p>“He will believe you are no longer a threat, having given into him.”</p><p>Almira’s grip on her skirt, which doesn’t have enough fabric to stretch very far from her figure, clenches into fists.</p><p>“And you will be overlooked. If you can be overlooked, no one suspects you, they will say things in front of you.”</p><p>Almira’s head bows so deeply her chin presses to her chest. <em>Please, please, please no.</em> She cannot go down that path. She is too afraid she will not be able to come back from it. He is all-consuming.</p><p>“Well, did he say anything?” Queen Xanthe asks.</p><p>Almira squeezes her eyes shut. “Yes,” she says. There is a pause, and Almira knows what it means. The queen is waiting—and royalty do not wait. “It is not what he said, but how he reacts. His lack of human support is his weakness and so could be his downfall.”</p><p>Xanthe grabs Almira’s chin and lifts her head to see tears brimming. “Good girl,” the queen crows. “We might just get him with your help. Use this weekend, away from those who might whisper in his ear, to whisper in his.”</p><p>Almira shuts her eyes in resignation, and Queen Xanthe lets her go. After a long moment, a supportive arm wraps around Almira’s waist.</p><p>Estera holds onto her.</p><p>“Keep the faith, right?” Almira mutters, resting her head against Estera’s as it begins to ache. Estera doesn’t respond, just holds Almira close.</p><p> </p><p>When Almira returns to the master suite, Blair lounges in a fauteuil. A poppy seed scone, an apple, a glass of water, and a cup of tea sit on the table between the armchairs facing the window. Sand stretches as far as the eye can see, on one side of it a sea of magenta and on the other side the sea itself.</p><p>“You’re late,” he says.</p><p>Almira is quiet as she goes to the chair opposite him and sits down. Bedding him will be easy. He has made that much clear. It is the rest that is the problem. It is him. It is her. It is the allure and the delusion. It is the lying and tricking and manipulating, the acting that isn’t acting.</p><p>“You’re quiet again,” he says.</p><p>Almira forces a smile. “I am thinking of what we can do today,” she lies. There is no heart in her lie, giving her away, but Blair doesn’t prod yet.</p><p>“And what is that?”</p><p>“We could go riding again.”</p><p>“And swimming. We are at a beach, after all.” Blair taps at his knee periodically and absently. “You’re not hungry? If you don’t eat, you may get lightheaded.”</p><p>“I have no appetite today,” she says, picking at the very skirts she designed. She hates them at that moment. It shouldn't be her wearing them. It shouldn't be her in the room with him. “Must be the travel.”</p><p>“I take it did not go well with your ladies.” Blair stands, smoothing his shirt as he does. It’s odd to see him in such a bright white, it nearly blends into his skin but the material is cream whereas he seems to be the palest shade of gray under certain lighting. “Why do their opinions hold so much weight over you? What does it matter? You let them shape your day.”</p><p>“You have your council, I have mine.”</p><p>Blair walks over to the window, nudging it open with his foot to let in the salty, fresh morning air. it carries with it an undertone of herbs.</p><p><em>Come on, Almira. Be a courtesan.</em> As much as she tells herself to stand and go to him, as much as she tries to make her muscles move, they won’t.</p><p>“Now who is sulking,” he mutters cruelly. When he doesn’t get a rise out of her, Blair goes to her and holds out his hand. “Come on.”</p><p>Almira takes his hand and lets him lead her to stand, mostly only because she feels so separate from everything going on, she is not sure she remains in control of her body. Or her mind. He slips in too easily. And yet, here he is, pulling her back down.</p><p>“What about. . .?” she asks.</p><p>“Have you seen the view from the master before?” he asks, leading her outside.</p><p>The air is temperate, the breeze cool. He watches her, so she keeps her gaze trained forward. The waves roll with all the softness she would expect of him and crash with all the gentleness he does offer. He is gentle but not really kind, like a purring cat seeking attention on its own terms. It makes you want to give it attention.</p><p>Almira lets her head loll back onto his shoulder. He doesn’t move, thin but anchoring behind her. If he moves, she decides in that moment, she will resign herself to her fate, if such a thing exists. She has never believed in it before, but perhaps now she needs to. But he does not move, hard and bony under her, and Almira lifts her head.</p><p>“You’re right,” he says, stepping aside. “A horse ride sounds pleasant. You ought to change, though. Those skirts look as though they could bring down a warhorse.”</p><p>When Almira does not return his smile, Blair frowns. “Meet me at the stables,” he says. “Have Lilitu bring you.” With that, he leaves her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(Ma) lolotte is a French endearment, but from what I gathered, it's not common/kinda weird and no one seems sure of the origin. One possibility was "spitz" which kind of fits Almira sometimes, so I just went with it. Since this is fiction/low fantasy, I'm just going to break linguistic rules and drop Ma and figured it doesn't have to have a meaning or be a nice, normal, sweet endearment lol </p><p>(Ma) poulette is more common and means "little hen" (I think a number of French endearments come from animals). This was just 'cause I figured it could be seen as a play on the fact that humans have gryphons (but doesn't have to be since that could be a stretch for some) </p><p>For fauteuil, see: https://dengarden.com/interior-design/AGuidetoAntiqueCHAIRIdentification</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. A Little Fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Blair and Almira go for a beach horse ride.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Eight: The Beach</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Part II: A Little Fire</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Almira does as he advises, changing in the secondary guest room so as to avoid Queen Xanthe and Reida. Iriel and Damaris are there playing cards and they stop to help her change into fitting riding gear with a cropped, red cloak.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Almira,” murmurs Iriel. “It doesn’t seem fair that you should have to be the one to do this.”</p><p>“Knock him off his horse for me,” Damaris says. “Drown him if you can.”</p><p>Almira nearly smiles, her lips twitching, but the amusement goes as quickly as it comes. Iriel hugs her, Damaris hugs them both.</p><p>“I know I should not say this,” Iriel whispers. “But you are doing more than the queen herself. These past few days she has spoken not two words to Damaris or me. She keeps to Reida and herself.”</p><p>Damaris’s face falls. “At least when the king was alive, she pretended,” she mutters. “Now we are tossed aside like pigs for the slaughter.”</p><p>“You are making a fine queen indeed,” Iriel says with a soft smile. “No matter what anyone else says.”</p><p>Almira kisses them on the cheek, not wanting to hear anymore, and leaves. She cannot tell if their words were comforting or dismal. Lilitu and her go through the château to the stables, where Blair waits. A stableboy holds the reigns of two saddle-less steads, one black and one a deep chestnut red, with long manes, tails, and feathers falling over their hooves. They are the most beautiful horses she has ever seen.</p><p>“They can be taken on trails?” she asks. “They look more suited to dressage.”</p><p>Blair grins, mounting the black one. “Tell that to all the warhorses,” he chuckles.</p><p>Almira runs her hand over the rump of hers. The mare is not huge, but her muscles ripple with the same strength as those pulling the coaches. “What is her name?” she asks.</p><p>“Adan,” he says as she pulls herself up to mount the horse. “Little fire.”</p><p>They set off, cantering out and around the château to the front gravel path towards the beach. Almira sends Adan into a gallop until the trees lining the path hide most of the home. She breaths, deep and even. They ride for hours, switching between a jog, trot, and canter, slowing and breaking for their horses. Adan and Blair’s mare hold up well, strong and enduring. Almira imagines Adan could have been a warhorse, could travel for days if need be, as she leads the way along the beach.</p><p> </p><p>It’s the afternoon, the sun just starting its descent, a sign that they should head back soon, when a loud splash has Almira gently tugging at the reins and looking back over her shoulder. Blair’s horse wades into the water, the waves splashing as high as Blair’s knees. His mare holds her head high but moves confidently in the water, as though she was trained in the sea.</p><p>Adan’s ears face the sea, her tail raised, and she paws at the ground. Almira squeezes her legs, and Adan shoots off into the water with a little more excitement than Almira anticipated. They splash into the water, soaking Almira’s feet, and Adan goes further still into the sea. Blair’s mare makes her way to Adan, and Blair passes with a smirk that sends an apprehensive chill down Almira’s spine.</p><p>The mare walks through the water to shore, Almira and Adan turning to watch them carefully, and suddenly they set off in the direction of the château. Adan and Almira race quickly after. The sand is denser and more packed together, but Almira knows better than to push a horse at the beach. Even so, Adan is flying so fast Almira cannot help the nervous laughter that escapes. It doesn’t take long to catch up to Blair.</p><p>The two mares gallop alongside each other, kicking up wet sand. Waves crash, birds call. Almira’s eyes and lips grow dryer with every shift over Adan, the salt stinging. The wind whips Blair’s and Almira’s hair back. Crownless, he almost looks like any other noble vampire with his pointy teeth and ears, which are so often easy to forget under his inky hair, but his pale eyes are too sharp and calculating, too competitive and deliberate to achieve anything less than grand or historic.</p><p>As their horses breathing turns labored, Blair slows, his mare playfully launching herself into the water. A large wave washes over her back so that by the time Almira has turned around, only the water washes off the horse’s black back. Adan and Almira dash over, Blair nowhere to be seen. Almira’s head starts to spin when she’s grabbed at the waist and easily yanked from Adan’s back.</p><p>A wave smacks Almira in the side of the head as she collapses in the water. She stands, coughing. And furious. Blair stands innocently a few feet away, soaked up to the ends of his hair, while there is not a dry spot on Almira. She rushes towards him, but he side-steps, and she stumbles. As Almira tries repeatedly to get a grab on her—and nearly doing so only for him to twist and slip away—Blair dances back and forth, around and around in the shallower areas. As shallow as the water is, it’s constant retreat and attack throw off Almira’s balance.</p><p>When he slips away for a third time, Almira holds on to the back of his shirt tightly.</p><p>“Wait, wait!” he says, sounding genuine, the rumbling chuckle hidden by the sound of the waves.</p><p>Almira pauses long enough for him to get away once more. Blair laughs, and the baritone rumble makes Almira realizes she’s been smiling the whole time. She realizes what she’s just been doing. Playing. Like a child. She stops, panting, and Blair looks at her with so much cockiness she ought to smack him.</p><p>“We should go back,” she says.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Why?” Almira echoes, put off. “What do you mean why?”</p><p>“Why?” Blair runs his fingers over the surface of the swaying water. “It’s our holiday. There are no responsibilities. Your ladies can wait.”</p><p>“I, I should read.”</p><p>Blair laughs again. “Are all human queens like this?”</p><p>“I’m—” <em>I’m not a queen.</em> “Are all vampire kings like this?”</p><p>“No,” he says with a little solemnity. “Did you know Mollikians have not hosted a festival since the war began?”</p><p>“No,” Almira admits. The waves rock against her thighs. Slightly tired from the ride and then the running around, she holds onto one of Blair’s arms. He holds onto hers.</p><p>“It’s seen as disrespectful and a mockery to the dead,” he says. “We’re meant to wait for a year to pass after a victory, too.”</p><p>“Will you wait?”</p><p> “I can be very patient, Poulette.” Blair squeezes her arm. “And you?”</p><p>“Actually,” Almira says, choosing her words carefully so as not to ruin a nice moment. “We use the excuse of hosting festivals to celebrate and mourn the dead and their sacrifice, but also to celebrate the life they have given us by dying and life in general. During the war, festivals also had a time of mourning beforehand. To pray for their passage into the afterlife and then to celebrate it. My grandmother told me once that mourning and festivals were once kept separate, but during the war, it was needed for morale.”</p><p>“I like your way better”—For a second, Almira almost considers that he does have a kind side when—"even if it was to convince more men to sign up for a while.”</p><p>“You don’t believe in an afterlife, though,” Almira says.</p><p>“Who taught you that?” Blair’s head cocks to the side slightly.</p><p>“I read it somewhere when I was young.”</p><p>“It’s true,” Blair says. “When you’re given a couple extra decades to live, an afterlife seems less attractive.”</p><p>“Only a couple extra?” Almira teases, though it is weak and without any mirth or heart.</p><p>“Immortality is stuff of legends and fairy tales, dear.”</p><p>“You think you live too long, though?” She considers him seriously, looking up at his face to gauge his reaction.</p><p>“Only long enough to think too much,” Blair says. He grabs her other arm, pulling her close. He is unsmiling, but there is a quality of <em>something</em> behind his mask of stoicism. She cannot read him well yet, but she thinks she spends too much time with him if she is able to peel the mask back enough to see even a sliver. “And not enough to remember to celebrate, apparently.”  </p><p>“Hmph,” Almira grunts, unamused and nervous about the way he inches closer. Her queen’s words come to mind.</p><p><em>As a </em>courtesan<em>, you could be much more. . .. And you will be overlooked.</em></p><p><em>As a </em>courtesan<em>. </em></p><p>“You don’t need to squeeze so hard, Lolotte,” he murmurs, close enough that the mint of his breath intermingles with salt on his clothes and in his hair.</p><p>
  <em>A courtesan.</em>
</p><p>Blair kisses her cheek. It’s chaste. And almost insulting after everything, after teetering on the edge because of him several times. He must be the daftest, most annoying vampire to ever exist, if he expects her to take that—or anything—with grace.</p><p>Almira smiles a little too benignly up at him. It’s tight-lipped, as if she is pursuing her lips. “You haven’t eaten,” she says.</p><p>“Nor have you.” It’s simple enough, but she can hear the roughness underneath, as smooth and clever as he thinks he is.</p><p>“You’re not hungry then?” Almira says, a little cheek in her tone, and Blair’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “After all that fighting, after all that traveling, after all our riding? Well, then. You don’t mind me asking a couple of questions, do you?” She smiles. If she is going to be a courtesan, then so be it, but no one is going to say she, a human, was bested by a vampire king.</p><p>Blair’s nostrils flare out just once, maybe twice, but it is once too many and gives him away.</p><p>“What does it take to catch them? Do you watch and wait for an ambush before you latch on and feed? Is it a powerful feeling?” Her hands run up his arms. His eyes are hard and dark, his grip on her tightens. “Is it a sudden feeling for vampire when they become hungry? Or does it grow slowly until it overruns you and it’s all you can think of?”</p><p>“It depends,” he says, gruff and curt.</p><p>He’s as stubborn as she is.</p><p>“When you’re hungry, is it true that you can smell blood for miles? That you can hear it, beating and flowing, in veins?” she asks, locking their gazes, and cocks her head to the side. “Can you smell me? Do I taste good? Does it make you feel good when I drip—”</p><p>Blair laughs but it’s more of a huff, a warning. His grip on her forearms is like iron cuffs, yanking her up to him. He smiles, and chills run up and down and all over Almira. “Don’t do that,” he says and lets her go so abruptly she stumbles in the sand. He grabs her, keeping her from falling, and sneers. “Was that your attempt?”</p><p>Almira glares at him, knowing full well it nearly got to him, even if it was somewhat nauseating. She’s never been one for vulgar words. She prefers a more direct approach, but of the courtesans she’s knows, they’ve always hooked their men with the bait of speech and proximity, teasing and testing but never crossing over. That is left to the man.  </p><p>“Are you going to answer any of the questions?” she shoots back, bitter as they return to their horses.</p><p>Blair looks at her from the corner of his eye as he takes his mare’s reins. “No,” he says and mounts the horse.</p><p>“You’re not going to help me?” Almira protests. “Adan is huge!”</p><p>Blair smirks. “I am sure you’re more than capable—”</p><p>“You wouldn’t.”</p><p>With a click of his tongue, Blair’s mare walks off.</p><p>“Come back here!” Almira growls and mutters as she climbs onto Adan. Then, she races past him. Not a moment later, they are neck and neck again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You can consider these horses to be Freisans or fantasy horses based on Frisians</p><p>I haven't ridden horses except like twice in my life, both when a lot younger, so sorry if that is obvious to anyone who actually does ride/own horses. I did try to look at a couple of different articles and videos on riding at the beach. Please correct me or give me tips for those of you who know about these things!</p><p>In my research, I found these: </p><p>On the Laytown Races in Ireland:<br/>https://edition.cnn.com/2018/09/21/sport/laytown-races-beach-horse-racing-spt-intl/index.html </p><p>Idk if this is simply for the benefit of media (and thus not necessarily true) but I found this interesting, too:<br/>https://edition.cnn.com/2017/04/25/sport/race-horses-beach-sea-sun-sand-gai-waterhouse/index.html</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Certain Economics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lilitu gives Almira some advice.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Lesbian love represented. It's brief in this chapter but this still stands: kindly leave if you don't like or it's "just not your thing," hate won't be tolerated, and next time I recommend reading the tags</p><p>***Potential TW: slut-shaming at the beginning! (I do not condone)</p><p>I return to school next week. So I'll be prepping for that come this weekend and cannot promise any updates over the weekend (this upcoming weekend: 1/23-1/24). Starting next week, my updates will be posted every other week since I have two works in progress. If I'm lucky and have extra free time (don't hold out hope), I promise to post weekly. This is just to keep me from getting distracted from my school work lol Please continue to support the story even if the updates are slowed down! While not necessary, it is very encouraging to me! </p><p>And finally, wow, I'm feeling hopeful after this inauguration day; I can't remember the last time I've been able to say that. This is not to say that all my readers are American, but (in general from a progressive American's POV) it feels like a great day for women, esp. non-cis and/or BIPOC women, given the representation put in place. Celebrate and rest but please don't become complacent with the new admin, even if it is more diverse. Change for the better is in our hands :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Nine: Certain Economics </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Almira returns to the main guest bedroom out of habit. As one of the queen’s higher-ranked ladies-in-waiting, she shared the space with Reida during the occasional beach holiday. Not even Lilitu updating Amoret on the day shakes the iron grip of habit for their shift change. She starts towards the wardrobe, already unbuttoning her shirt, hardened from the saltwater after drying, when voices in the bathroom make her pause.</p><p>The door is ajar, candlelight flickering through onto the carpet. There is a soft, soft splash. Her queen faces the window, sipping on wine, as Reida washes her hair and Estera her body.</p><p>“She is a whore all the same,” Reida says.</p><p>Almira steps back, well aware of Reida’s well-bred disdain for street prostitutes, when the next words come up from the ground and root her to the spot like the tendrils of sadistic plants that lure their prey in, pulling them closer and closer with hypnotic, bright colors that hide sharp teeth.</p><p>“Almira is not a whore,” Estera says.</p><p>“Then what <em>is</em> a courtesan?” Reida sneers. “They live their life at the side of men, wooing and throwing themselves at them. It’s sad and pathetic. And Almira does not have the greatest track record anyways.”</p><p>Her queen sips more wine, silent as she watches the eb and flow of the waves and the sinking of the sun as it sprays the sky with color, a soft pink catching on the clouds.</p><p>“None of us want to marry men,” Estera says. “We knew going into this we would be married to the queen and her lifestyle. That doesn’t bare us from seeking our own short-term pleasure.”</p><p>“It doesn’t mean we should either,” Reida says, her voice dripping with self-satisfied contempt. “Short-term pleasure is for whores who either can’t or won’t find a nobleman. She is doing a disservice to herself.”</p><p>Estera’s face is so taut she looks ready to explode. “Funny thing,” she says, a tremor in her voice. “Saving lives. <em>Disserving</em> herself.”  </p><p>Almira walks backwards, shaking. She goes mechanically to the wardrobe, hurriedly changes into satin pajamas even though the queen and her ladies won’t leave the bathroom for at least an hour, and rushes from the room, slamming the door behind her. She doesn’t care if they hear. She can’t stop shaking. She can’t see straight.</p><p>“I want to go somewhere private,” she tells Lilitu. “From everything.”</p><p>Lilitu kisses the vampire she was speaking with on the cheek. “Take care, Amoret,” she says. There is a softness in her expression that is impossible to miss when worn on one so aloof.</p><p>Almira looks Amoret up and down, having pictured someone more stereotypical of a vampire. Amoret is curvy with long, thick dark hair pulled back into a severe pony’s tail, but her cheeks are plump and ruddy, her tan arms brawny, and her smallish, hazel eyes intelligent. She stands only slightly shorter than most of the vampires Almira has seen and exudes enough self-assurance to make even the cockiest of men insecure. Her dragon scale uniform is as plain and dark as Lilitu’s but as the two stand next to one another, it becomes impossible to miss the blue shimmer in Lilitu’s that is absent in Amoret’s.</p><p>Lilitu nods for Almira to follow, and she immediately sets off, casting all thoughts of Amoret aside. The vampire’s stride is long with her spindly legs and has no trouble keeping up with Almira’s fast pace. They go down the stairs, down the corridor, and into the library.</p><p>“Should I lock the. . .?” Lilitu trails off as Almira crawls into a loveseat and cries.</p><p>Reida’s words have always infuriated her but they have never made her cry. She trembles as the sobbing wracks her whole body. The library door clicks shut. Lilitu takes the blanket from the sofa and places it over Almira, who doesn’t react.</p><p>She can’t. Because for once, she cannot convince herself that the bully Reida is wrong. Because the respect of her peers does matter to her. Because she lashes out out of fear and anger and denial of the truth, but now she cannot deny anything.</p><p>She doesn’t hate Blair. If he weren’t a murderer, she wouldn’t question sleeping with him. And even now that he is, she cannot deny the allure of him. He is a murderer all the same—but then, that makes her queen one, too. War takes two, he said. It’s true. It’s true she wants him but shouldn’t. It’s true Reida’s words cut and burn her with shame and ridicule and disdain.</p><p>Lilitu sits on the sofa, patient and quiet and unobtrusive while Almira cries until there are no more tears, and Almira with her back turned to the sofa forgets that the vampire is there. A scratchy wool material, the blanket rubs and itches against her skin, a reminder, and Almira whirls around with wide, red eyes.</p><p>Lilitu’s gaze moves slowly from the ground to the human. It is not mocking or patronizing or filled with pity or anger. She looks away again as though looking at Almira is a reminder. With her hands in her lap and her legs open, Lilitu waits for Almira to stop crying, to be the first to talk, to feel a measure better or more comfortable. She is unmoving in her dragon scale uniform.</p><p>“You don’t find satisfaction in seeing me cry?” Almira’s voice is hoarse and cracks. She shifts under the blanket so as to not have to crane her neck and faces Lilitu. Forcing the vampire to gaze at her.</p><p>“No,” Lilitu says. It is blunt and firm and somehow that is what gives it an authentic sympathy. “I do not. I leave that to the sadists who enjoy war and torment.”</p><p>“You’re one of those who wants Blair to achieve stability?” Almira is careful to not use the word ‘peace.’ She’s slowly losing hope in it. To speak it would be affirming its erasure through war. There is no peace with war, she’s realized, and the aftermath is even more hopeless.</p><p>“If it is even possible. The council is gridlocked on the matter. The king has many subjects, and his council represents them. There are many voices.”</p><p>“What of the Grand Advisor?” Almira doesn’t have the energy to spit out the title, but her tone is laced with a bitter poison.</p><p>Lilitu breaths in deeply and sits back. “Ascelin is an expert in certain economics,” she says. “And more recently, war.” She says it without saying it: <em>Economics for the elite. Not in stability for all. Not in peace. </em> </p><p>“Blair must consider all of his options proceeding forward,” she says. Lilitu’s dark brown eyes, shining against orange candlelight, bore into Almira. “Few can sway him with the council like this.”</p><p>Almira swallows. “He is selective,” she mumbles.</p><p>“Very,” Lilitu says. “He does not trust push-overs or charlatans. You have to earn his respect.”</p><p>“Does he trust many of his own councilmen?” Almira is unsure she’ll get an answer, but she knows she needs to sound confident asks if she wants to even think about getting one.</p><p>“Depends on the day, depends on the vampire, depends on the topic, but he always prefers an argument to flattery.” Lilitu leans forward but is careful not to cross the space between herself and Almira. “Just be honest with him.”</p><p>At Almira’s look of disquiet, Lilitu adds meaningfully, “Not all vampires like talking in riddles. Some of us prefer you to be direct.”</p><p>“I see,” Almira utters quietly. “But I would prefer to keep my problems <em>my</em> problems.”</p><p>“Then say that. You hate the games, it’s obvious. Vampires like Blair and I hate them, too. They take up air, space, they waste time in getting things done.”</p><p>“We have a deal. I have to be passive.” <em>Or he’ll hurt, maybe kill.</em> As much as Almira hates Reida, she doesn’t want the woman’s death on her hands.  </p><p>“Passive, or collaborative?” Lilitu asks. “Be honest with him and you may find he can be very accommodating.”</p><p>“Accommodating?”</p><p>“You’d be surprised.” There is a pause as Lilitu crosses one leg over the other. “I’d like to give you some advice.”</p><p>“Were you not already?”</p><p>Lilitu grins. “Yes,” she chuckles. “Very true.” The chuckle subsides into a graver countenance. “I understand your position is precarious, but vampire courtesans are held in high regard in Mollikia. We’ve just never had a human one—and yes, with the sovereign, there is generally only one if they can find a Feeder they like.”</p><p>“Why are you helping me?” Almira has not felt powerful since Blair’s arrival. She’s felt like an ant. To be told she is a lion, Almira isn’t even sure what to do or where to start. She isn’t even sure she wants the information. She was starting to grow familiar with her perceived lack of agency.</p><p>“You could get me what I want,” Lilitu says factually. “Retirement. A life outside war. If you ask me, the war has not ended.”</p><p>“With Amoret?” Almira asks, testing.</p><p>Lilitu smirks. Pride sparks in her eyes and flitters across her face. “Yes,” she says as though bragging. “With Amoret.”</p><p>There is an aching pinch in Almira’s chest that she takes and shoves in the dark recesses of her mind.</p><p>“Do you want to take a walk?” Lilitu asks. “I’ve heard this is a common practice among humans to clear one’s mind.”</p><p>“And what do vampires do?”</p><p>Lilitu grins. “Some stereotypes are true,” she says in a way that makes Almira blush. “Some we take pride in.”</p><p>“Why do vampires not use titles?” Almira asks quickly.</p><p>“Do you wish me to?” The question is stiff.</p><p>“No, that would be weird,” Almira says. “I mean, now. Since we haven’t been using them.”</p><p>“It’s a tradition that died out,” Lilitu says. “I imagine for the same reason vampires know better than to flatter their current king. Do you suppose it will cause problems amongst the humans?”</p><p>“No, they—we will see it as a chance to disrespect him,” Almira says. “I think I like your way, though.” She thinks of her grandmother, of her mother’s disdain for her own mother, of how much her parents cared what other people thought, of how much she has grown up to be more like them.</p><p>“How odd for a queen.”</p><p>Unable to think of an excuse, Almira simply mutters, “Don’t tease,” and a comfortable silence falls over the library. Almira shivers under the thin blanket. Night has fallen and the fireplace remains unlit.</p><p>“I suspect the king will be growing irritable soon if he isn’t already. His patience only ever lasts until he grows hungry. Don’t tell him I said that, but it is a good thing to keep in mind for yourself if you want him to not get so selfish and nettled as to ignore you at the end of the day,” Lilitu says, standing with the grace and swiftness of Adan. “Besides, we cannot hide here forever. This place is much too small.”</p><p><em>Why not?</em> Almira thinks as she forces her stiff joints and tight muscles to stretch and hold her up. Her knee pops, the crack echoing in the lofty, empty library.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Mint and Salt and Iron</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Almira takes Lilitu’s advice very seriously.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Any thoughts on using mint, salt, and metal/iron imagery for the title of this work? I'm thinking about not changing it until the work is completed in case something else comes up that I like since I'd only want to change the title once but I am open to feedback :) Lmk what you think</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>Ten: </strong> <strong>Mint and Salt and Iron</strong></p><p> </p><p>Blair’s room is quiet and dim. Lilitu nudges Almira to the side to enter first, almost protectively. Her dark skin glows against the candlelight.</p><p>“You’re late,” he says. “I know you think of me as a patient king, but you know how I detest a lack of punctuality.”</p><p>Lilitu glances at Almira with an ‘I told you’ look. “I understand,” she says. “I know.”</p><p>“I didn’t promote a sloth, so why’re you late?” He stands up from his armchair, his appearance haggard in his dirty riding clothes. Staring straight at him, tall and imposing even when disheveled, quickens Almira’s pulse. “Did she hit you, too?” Blair taunts. “I don’t see any blood.”</p><p>Almira looks at Lilitu, and Blair takes in the slight change of atmosphere.</p><p>“I thought I told you not to take her side of things,” Blair grumbles, languidly pointing from one to the other.</p><p>“I’m not,” Lilitu lies smoothly and confidently. It hits Almira, that’s what she needs for a solid lie: confidence. “She wanted to go for a walk. Amoret is at the door.”</p><p>“Even if that’s true, you were supposed to come to me with a report.”</p><p>“Should I have let her go?”</p><p>“You could have sent someone else with her.”</p><p>“I didn’t want to take that risk after what happened to you.”</p><p>Blair begrudgingly caves, walking up to them. Lilitu’s comment and Blair’s lack of denial means she is the better warrior. It’s a curious little thing to Almira; somehow, as small as it is, there is a weight to it. An importance. She is more likely to escape him than Lilitu.</p><p>She also sees now what Lilitu meant earlier. Blair pokes and prods, but it’s just a test. You just have to out stubborn him. He wants you to cave and he wants you to win, so that whatever the outcome, it is comes down to you. To your ability, or just as importantly your inability, to earn that respect.</p><p>“I’m right here,” Almira says, but Blair ignores her. Lilitu’s glance is so quick it would she would have missed it if she weren’t glaring at the both of them.</p><p>Almira places herself in between the two vampires, facing Blair. “She can give you her report tomorrow,” she says.</p><p>Pale eyes shift from human to vampire to human to vampire. “Very well,” he says, and satisfaction blooms through Almira. “Tomorrow morning,” he says to Lilitu, whose lips curl up as she leaves.</p><p>The bedroom door shuts with a soft click, and Blair steps back from Almira.</p><p>“And why is she not giving me my report now?” he asks.</p><p>Almira hadn’t thought this far ahead. Her little victory has her heads in the clouds. “Huh?” she asks.</p><p>Vexation hardens Blair’s face, and Almira’s victory pops like a bubble, sending her hurtling back down to earth where she faces a hungry, irate, and very powerful vampire who has had thousands killed.</p><p>“Well, I,” Almira speaks slowly and high-pitched, heart pounding and mind racing, “Wanted to know about my earlier questions? Can you smell blood from miles away?”</p><p>Thoroughly done with her, Blair marches back to his seat and plops down. Lilitu’s words in the library strengthen her and she walks over. It’s then that Almira sees half of a duck on the table. Having always eaten with the others in silence in the dining room, it’s a surprise. The sweet smell of honey roasted duck makes her stomach growl. She sits down across from Blair, the fireplace on her side and the night scenery before then. Instead of crickets, the sound of waves pulls the day’s tension from her muscles and bones.</p><p>“Thank you,” she says, wondering why, unable to trust him.</p><p>“Your eyes are red.”</p><p>“I was crying,” she admits, adding for Lilitu, “On our walk.”</p><p>“You hate it here.”</p><p>Almira sighs, preparing herself. “No,” she says. “I don’t.”</p><p>“I’m not going to get angry,” he says. “It’s to be expected.”</p><p>“What is?”</p><p>“Hating. . .,” his hand swirls in the air, gesticulating at nothing and thus everything, “this.”</p><p>“Does that you sad?” She keeps as much derision out of her voice as possible.</p><p>“It makes me tired.” A pause. “And disappointed, but it’s not as though I can blame anyone else.”</p><p>The corner of Almira’s mouth lifts. At least he’s self-aware.</p><p>“Your duck is cold,” he murmurs.</p><p>“It’s not the first time I’ve eaten cold food,” she says. He looks at her quizzically, and once again, Almira is reminded of the fact that she is a queen’s decoy. Not even most noblewomen would be able to say such a thing. Desperate to move on, Almira starts eating, careful to eat according to proper royal etiquette.</p><p>“Do you enjoy being a queen?” Blair asks after a while.</p><p>“Does it matter?” she replies, putting down the utensils meticulously.</p><p>“No, I suppose not.”</p><p>“Do you enjoy it?” Almira asks. “You have enough bragging rights that anyone would assume yes.”</p><p>“There are a lot of facades involved,” he says, tracing the tablecloth’s embroidery of heather. “It’s easy to get lost in them.”</p><p>“Are you an only child?” Almira asks the question before she realizes she’s asking the question, and it surprises them both.</p><p>Blair’s eyebrows raise and fall, recovering more quickly than Almira. “I am now,” he says. “My sister died in childbirth, which is common for vampires, and my brother died in the war. He was almost twenty-eight, for you that would be about fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, something like that, I think. I generally avoid thinking too much about it.”</p><p>“Then you were close?”</p><p>“There is a phrase amongst us: You are worth your blood. It has two meanings, the first being that we need to consider and respect who we eat, and the second being that who we surround ourselves with and how we treat them is a reflection of ourselves.”</p><p>“Is that from Amaris?”</p><p>“Yes, she was highly influential to vampiric philosophers and artists and general intellects.” He smirks. “I think we discussed it before.”</p><p>Afraid she’ll give herself away, Almira looks out at the night scene of a calm, dark sea and sky. She was never as bookish as her queen. She wouldn’t even be able to form a convincing lie, no matter how confidently she told it.</p><p>“I barely remember,” Almira mutters.</p><p>“You’re an only child,” Blair says. “It seems common among humans.”</p><p>“Amongst the elite, it is,” Almira says. Five of her grandmother’s eight children died young. Her mother was the youngest of all and grew up with the most. Most attention, most food, most money, most everything.</p><p>“Spoiled child,” her grandmother used to say with regret and a shake of her gray head.</p><p>“Seems lonely,” Blair says.  </p><p>Almira shrugs. “You have a grandmother or young aunt or governess and your childhood friends and then parties and games as you grow,” she says, “and it’s all you know.”</p><p>When she looks back at Blair, she sees loneliness and death and ambition and hunger and fatigue. He’s returned to that ghoulish look he gets after not feeding but there is a weariness to it now.</p><p>Almira plays over Lilitu’s words in her mind. Her strength, her determination. Even if she was using Almira, she made it clear that there was no doubt in the vampire’s mind about whether Almira could achieve what she wanted.</p><p>She moves over to Blair, sitting on his lap. His arms stay by his side, his eyes roaming over her, and she remembers she is in nothing but ivory, red-threaded, gossamer pajama shirt and pants.</p><p>
  <em>Good. </em>
</p><p>Blair bends towards her neck, so Almira takes his face in her hands and brings his lips to hers. He tastes of mint and salt and iron and regret and uncertainty and no turning back. One arm, then the other wraps around his neck, tugging him close; his hands crawl up her back to her shoulders to her hair. One hand falls to her thigh, holding her close, after one of her legs slips from his lap. In its length, the kiss becomes labored and breathy, the air between them hot, their breathing morphing into soft pants that finally break them apart.</p><p>His pale eyes search, uncertain. Almira kisses his neck, exposing her own, and Blair bites down. She clings like ivy to him, hands grasping his hair but not pulling. He holds her, supports her, until he starts to shake under her. Her fingers find his skull and gently rub until the shudders subside. With one last shiver, Blair pulls away.</p><p>“Mint,” he murmurs, pursing his lips, when she kisses his mouth, as quick and soft as a butterfly’s touch. When she moves to kiss him again, Blair tenses underneath her.</p><p>“Almira,” he says, pulling away. “As much as I am fond of your affection, I don’t think that is a particularly good idea.”</p><p>“Is it a sudden feeling for vampire when they become hungry?” she teases. “Or does it grow slowly until it overruns you and it’s all you can think of?”</p><p>Blair snorts, covering a snicker, and gently moves her to stand so he can go into his bathroom. She watches from the doorway as he swishes water around from a basin of fresh water and spits into another empty basin.</p><p>“You’ve never done that. . ..” Almira breaks off when Blair, eating mint from a box beside the basins, is striding over to her.</p><p>Blair strides over to her, practically clolliding into her, forcing her to grab onto him so she doesn’t fall back. Teeth scrap teeth, and for a split second it’s like Almira’s first few kisses when she was a adolescent. Her lips and tongue feel the point of his fangs and then they’re gone, adjusting, and all she tastes is mint.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. A Game of Scravat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Longer chapter since I normally split them up, but thinking I'll start just keeping them as is</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Eleven: A Game of Scravat</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Almira wakes on her stomach under the satiny sheets once more, but this time warmth radiates from her right. They aren’t touching and so Almira doesn’t move, uncertain of how close Blair is with her head turned the other way. She is facing the inner wall, eyes roaming the art piece of heather floating on top of the expansive cove water at golden hour. The arm tightens around Almira, and she stiffens, the unknown sending her nerves skittering.</p><p>Blair’s breath drags down to her shoulder as he rises, propping up on his elbow. She looks back over her shoulder and, with his groggy expression giving him a misleading harmless appearance, falls onto her back underneath him. Half laying on top of her, he is boneless with sleep as he slides down to her navel. Arms at her hips, his thumbs rub back and forth. Having taken the covers down with him, she shivers in the beach morning air, bare.</p><p>Marks dot her torso, mostly bruising at her hips but a couple of accidental scratches and wayward bruises rise and fall with her breasts. Heat rises to her face at the sight as she looks down herself at Blair. He stays at her stomach, dark hair pooling around his shoulders, tickling her skin as his cheek presses against it.</p><p>“I don’t suppose you will be wanting to go for another ride,” he muses haughtily.</p><p>“I’m sure the horses could use a break,” she tells him, sleep making her voice crack. Her face burns hotter, and the morning air no longer feels as cold.</p><p>“More for me,” he says and play bites, leaving no marks and so gentle that it doesn’t bother her bruised skin.</p><p>With a click of Almira’s tongue, Blair stops and smiles against her skin. His lips drag back up her body, dropping feather-light kisses and leaving a tingling sensation behind, until he reaches her mouth. He stops over her. Warmth presses down onto her as their legs entangle, and Almira kisses him.</p><p>The mint taste is long gone, replaced by the faded salty taste of her own stale cum and his sleep. She flashes back to the very early morning when the moon was at its highest. Silver light painted the room. Rubbed-raw knees and the bitter, metallic taste she swallowed down. Her head was on laying back on the same pillows she lays on now, him on top of her, but now he lays beside her, not kneeling over her. Where his black hair was disheveled around his head before, it lays soft against her shoulder.</p><p>She never felt pulled in such extreme different directions by a lover before. Never before has she felt so enthralled, unable to tell if it is a good or a bad thing. Surely something that feels so good must be bad. It must be addictive and blinding. Untrustworthy.</p><p>“Do you know the game scravat?” Blair asks. He is on his side, pressed up against her with one leg twisted around one of her legs.</p><p>“No. What is it, a sport?”</p><p>“More of a game,” he explains. “They are like riddles but meant to interconnect. When you notice the overarching relationship or theme, you say, ‘Scravat.’”</p><p>“It sounds like a type of rodent.”</p><p>“It is to the losers.” Blair’s chuckle is rumbly. Almira can feel the vibrations in his chest against her back and shoulder. “Many use it for gambling. Vampires have lost a lot over a game of Scravat, but it also is used to engage with young ones. Parents often play with their children. How about it?” Blair’s eyebrows raise as he drags his lips over Almira’s shoulder.  </p><p>“Alright, it sounds interesting enough,” she says and flips around to face him, propping her arm up so she can rest the side of her head against her palm.</p><p>“Let’s bet,” he says with a smirk so sly, Almira almost misses it. She adjusts her arm, resettling her head against it, to mask the chill that raced up her spine and how its energy disperses to crawl over her skin.</p><p>“I’m not marrying you.”</p><p>Blair smiles. “I wasn’t going to say that,” he says. “What about the loser must do whatever the winner wants?”</p><p>“Just one task?” There is a mixture of excitement and disappointment in Almira’s tone.</p><p>Blair bursts out laughing, and Almira wonders over the fact that for someone who is so serious outside of his bedrooms, he sure is lighthearted inside them.</p><p>“For the rest of the day, then?” he asks.</p><p>“Okay,” she says, “but I want to tweak the rules if we are meant to go back and forth. It’ll be unfair since I’m unfamiliar with riddles.”</p><p>Blair’s red lips form a straight line as he pauses, thinking.</p><p>“I will give you four decent riddles,” he suggests. “Not too hard but not too easy. If you can guess. . . hm, at least half of the individual riddles <em>and</em> how they are connected, then you win. If you can’t get those three, then I win.”</p><p>“Two out of five,” Almira insists.</p><p>“No,” he says, stubborn but amused. “I told you I would give you decent ones since you are not an idiot. And I’m not an idiot who would agree to such a thing. Three out of five.”</p><p>“But if I lose, I’ll have to do everything you say.”</p><p>“But if you win, Lolotte. . ..” One of Blair’s eyebrows quirks up in time with the corner of his mouth.</p><p>A thrill rushes through Almira. She agrees, and Blair falls onto his back in deep contemplation. His eyes roam over the ceiling as if the riddle can be found scrawled across it.</p><p>“My first is found on the ocean wave,</p><p>In spring, the pit, and the mine;</p><p>My second below earth’s surface you have,</p><p>Where seldom the sun can shine.</p><p>My whole your dinner-table must grace.</p><p>What am I?” Blair says.</p><p>Almira picks apart the riddle as she picks at the sheets, pulling them up over her chest. When she looks past Blair out at the ocean for a hint, it hits her.</p><p>“Salt,” she says.</p><p>“Very good.”</p><p>“But if the first state of salt is already under the surface because of mines, how can it be so again?”</p><p>“The cellar.”</p><p>Having never worked in the kitchens before, the idea of where exactly everything is kept didn’t cross her mind until then. She nods.</p><p>“Ready for the next one?” he asks.</p><p>“Yes,” she says, confident and excited.</p><p>“You have me today,</p><p>Tomorrow you’ll have more;</p><p>As your time passes,</p><p>I’m not easy to store;</p><p>I don’t take up space,</p><p>But I’m only in one place;</p><p>I’m what you saw,</p><p>But not what you see.</p><p>What am I?”</p><p>There is a moment in which Almira pictures prisoners in a dungeon, locked up after war, bodily representations of what was versus what has become. But they are bodies, they are people. They live, they breath. They do take up space. She asks Blair to repeat the riddle, so he does. She latches onto, “I don’t take up space, / But I’m only in one place."</p><p>“Thoughts?” she guesses.</p><p>“Not quite,” he says. “Memories.” He repeats the riddle one last time, allowing her to piece it all together.</p><p>Only one more chance for a mistake. A part of Almira grows nervous but even then, there is a terrifying thrill at the thought of Blair’s promise.</p><p>“Next one,” Almira says, determined.</p><p>“First, I am dried, then I am wet;</p><p>The longer I swim, the more taste you get.</p><p>What am I?”</p><p>For a moment, Almira flashes back to Blair between her legs, how she tasted on his tongue afterwards when he kissed her, and the taste of him on her when she finally brought him to completion before he wrung another two out of her. She blinks rapidly, shoving the images to the darkest crevices of her mind as heat rises in her face. Surly he’s not <em>that</em> crude.</p><p>Blair rolls over her, kissing at her neck, nibbling at her earlobe. She arches against him without thought. “Careful,” he whispers.</p><p>Almira nudges against him, pressing her hand to his chest until he falls back against the mattress next to her. “Don’t distract me,” she says. “It’s cheating.”</p><p>“I didn’t have to do anything,” he says, cocky and all too perceptive.</p><p>“Ssh,” she says curtly. “Let me think.”</p><p>Blair’s gaze is curious as it runs up and down Almira. She doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s staring. It’s off putting, but not as much as before. So long as he doesn’t leer, she finds no discomfort in being the center of his attention. With this shift, he is less distracting, and she can think. Even as his gaze tugs at the edges of her attention, she focuses on the riddle at hand.</p><p>“Herbs,” she says, hopeful and satisfied, after a short while.</p><p>“Very close,” he praises. “But it’s tea.”</p><p>Almira starts to sit up but the beach morning air is cool and she sinks back under the covers. “Tea?” she says, exasperated. “That’s practically herbs! My answer still works. Even spices are applicable.”</p><p>“They’re not the answer.”</p><p>“They work, though.”</p><p>“Do they?”</p><p>“Yes!” Almira is obstinate. “They do.”</p><p>“And yet.”</p><p>“No, ‘and yet,’” she argues, flipping onto her side to face him. “They work. It counts. I’ve got two now.”</p><p>“One.”</p><p>“Two!”</p><p>“I don’t make the rules, Lolotte.” He’s grinning. “It’s tea.”</p><p>“I thought vampires weren’t into traditions,” she grumbles.</p><p>“We like traditions plenty.” His fangs flash as if to make a point.</p><p>“Well, I say it counts,” Almira says, falling back onto her back and crossing her arms. His stupid, cheeky grin and the pointy ear sticking out from his hair are too irritating.</p><p>“One more riddle,” Blair says. “Two more chances. Ready?”</p><p>“Don’t pick one that can have another answer,” she mutters bitterly.</p><p>“What fastens two people yet touches only one?” he asks.</p><p>“A string,” she says immediately, only to surprise herself. “No!”</p><p>“You answered already--”</p><p>“No, no, no.” Almira presses against him, running her hand down his side. “It wasn’t my answer.”</p><p>Blair’s nostrils flair, his breath catching as her hand explores further. “Only one answer per riddle,” he says gruffly. He grabs her wrist, bringing her hand back up. “No cheating.”</p><p>Almira frowns. Her free hand goes to his neck, his chest, and she pulls herself up to his lips. “I’ll give you this one,” she says, “if you give me the last one.”</p><p>Blair pecks her quickly. “The answer is the posie bands.”</p><p>“We don’t have that practice,” Almira points out. “Unavailable human women cover their hair or wear veils.”</p><p>“Good thing, too,” Blair says. He brings his face close to her so his metallic morning breath washes over her. “I would have melted it had another given you one.”</p><p>“And yet my veils were burned, and my hair remains uncovered.” Her eyes are dauntless and defiant.</p><p>“I like your hair,” he states matter-of-factly. Almira is taken aback and doesn’t retort. By the time she’s recovered from her initial surprise, Blair is continuing, “I want others to see it. I want them to see you.”</p><p>“As submissive,” she sneers even as he is leaning forward, pushing against her, even as he crawls over her.</p><p>Blair’s gaze sears, hot as a bonfire. He doesn’t respond to her quip, his jaw subtly clenching and unclenching. “What connected the riddles?” he asks lowly.</p><p>Almira reaches up to run her fingers through his hair, but it’s knotted, and she accidentally catches on. Blair grimaces. She runs her hand over his dark, tousled hair and rubs the ends between her fingers.</p><p>“Salt, memories, <em>herbs</em>”—Blair grins down at her—”and lover’s rings,” she says. “It’s a domestic scene.”</p><p>Blair lowers himself, hovering over her as his knee comes up between her legs, and she continues to play with his hair.</p><p>“What kind?” he asks.</p><p>But he is distracting with the tickle of his knee and hair, the warm of his body and breath, and Almira has never been one to turn down a handsome man’s advances in the end. She has the pleasurable habit of basking in temptations when they arise.</p><p>“A couple,” she says, preoccupied as Blair’s mouth goes from her ear to her neck.</p><p>“What kind?” He lowers still to her chest.</p><p>Almira blinks down at him. “What?” she asks, bemused.</p><p>Blair gazes up at her, his chin resting between her breasts. “Describe the scene,” he says. “In scravat, it’s never not specific.”</p><p>“Oh.” Almira momentarily forgot about the game, and now that she remembers, she puts her hand on Blair’s cheek. He stills, giving her a moment to think.</p><p>“Lovers with memories between them,” she says. “There are salt and herbs,” with a scowl, she mutters, “or tea.”</p><p>Blair lays down on top of Almira, but he is perhaps the lightest lover she’s had, and it doesn’t bother her. He’s warm and attentive as his arms slip under her waist to wrap around her and hold her close. His pale eyes are wide because he has to look up at her, and the expression makes him appear misleadingly innocent and naïve.</p><p>“Yes,” he says. “What possibly for?”</p><p>“A meal. They are a couple who has been together for some time and are eating a meal or are talking over a meal.”</p><p>“As you said, there could be more than one answer to those riddles,” Blair says. He lifts himself like a languid panther, and Almira rises onto her elbows out of wariness. “Unfortunately, what binds them together is entirely up to the riddler. And that, Lolotte, was not what I was imagining.”</p><p>“Are you saying I have to be able to read your damn mind to win this stupid game?” Almira demands.</p><p>“No,” Blair says. His fingernails rank down her sides and Almira arches into him to pull away as they leave red lines behind. “You have to be able to read your opponent.”</p><p>“Vampires,” she hisses when he grips her hips, and her fingers tighten around his hair. His head pulled back at a harsh angle by her tugging, his mouth parted and his fang poking out. “Fine, what did you imagine?”</p><p>“Old lovers drinking tea overlooking a beach sunrise,” he murmurs against her chest and rocks forward, pressing against her and into her only to still.</p><p>“One wasn’t drinking blood?” Almira questions breathily.</p><p>“Not this time.” His eyes drop to Almira’s neck.</p><p>Based on where the sun is making its climb through the blue field of cotton clouds, it must be mid- to late morning. They lay like that for the next hour or so as the fantasy slowly washes away with the sound of the waves.</p><p>Almira gets up to wash herself only for Blair to stand and start to follow, so she shuts the door in his face. He takes the “hint,” and she spends the next hour scrubbing the night and morning off, melting into the water. She takes the herbs set out on the counter and puts them in the hot water, takes the soaps and makes a bubble bath. The lavender and goat milk soak into her, pruning her hands and feet, washing off the filth and tension but not cleansing her of it.</p><p>Almira cannot help but feel dirty as the night’s teasing, explorative pretense wears off. Even if the only difference is that it was with a <em>vampire</em>. Even if the only difference is <em>how</em> good it felt. She has gotten her taste, and for once, she is not quite sure where to go from here. There is no clear line of, “This won’t last more than a about month,” or “one night was enough.” One night was certainly not enough. And he won’t disappear from her life after just a month. It makes her wonder once more how long this will go on, how long she will give into him, how long he will be king, how long she will little more than a courtesan.</p><p>And then she remembers Lilitu’s words. She is not “little more,” she is. She has power, influence. Even her queen could see that, pushed her towards it, encouraged it. A small part of Almira wonders if Queen Xanthe would have gone this far without a decoy, but she pushes the thought to the further recesses of her mind as she dips under the bubbles.</p><p> </p><p>Blair and Almira spend half of the day in the garden, walking through the heather, and end the day at the beach. They speak of nothing relating to politics. Blair talks mostly of literature and philosophy. Almira is somewhat quiet, even during his teasing moments and more provocative bouts, but she cannot help where he mind takes her, so focusing on Blair’s words help to distract. At first, he asks many questions, but when her answers are weak and noncommittal, he eventually gets the gist and only asks questions on occasion.</p><p>When he falls quiet, too, Almira finds herself wanting to cry under the weight of it all. So, she talks, but it is difficult when all she knows is nothing like what Queen Xanthe knows. She is able to skirt around the issue by focusing on talking about fashion trends. To her surprise, Blair listens raptly and even offers comparisons to vampiric fashion trends.</p><p>He talks about the practicality of vampiric fashion and how it is far more in-depth than Almira originally thought. Clothes are lightweight but tightly woven silk or loose linen or cotton because of it is a strange level of cool but not quite cold, sometimes warm but rarely hot.</p><p>“It sounds lovely,” she says. “The weather. I often find it too cold here.”</p><p>“You forget that we often have dreary weather, even if it is warm,” he says. “It is also very humid during warmer months, hence the cuts.” He makes a V shape over his chest.</p><p>“I thought that had more to do with. . .,” Almira starts but can’t find a more polite word for “debauchery” and “wantonness.”  </p><p>“Sexual liberation?” he offers candidly, reading her expression.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Perhaps somewhat, but who can say which came first?” he points out. “It certainly at the very least makes it more acceptable, but we we were to go off you, you do not give off the opposite impression.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” Almira scoffs.</p><p>“Sorry, it was a compliment or neutral,” Blair murmurs. “This vampire-human thing is more difficult than I expected.”</p><p>Almira looks out at the heather surrounding them, its earthy-floral scent suffocatingly strong. Waves of pink and magenta crawl beyond sight, falling and rising with the hills until she can’t see what is beyond, save the mountains far off. She turns the conversation back to their saving grace, fashion.</p><p> </p><p>By the evening, the beach breeze has picked up into a stronger wind that lifts the framing pieces of Almira’s hair so long as she faces it, and Blair has still not used his supposed scravat win to make her do anything. His hair twists at the ends in a low pony’s tail. They had managed to talk the entirety of the second half of the day without delving into their obvious elephants stuck over in the corner, watching them, waiting to be let out of time-out. But they have spent so many hours ignoring them that now, even as hulking masses, it is easy to pretend they do not exist. Not even Blair’s fangs and pointed ears and pearly skin can take them out of the illusion, she can become so accustomed to them.</p><p>They sit in the sand, the ends of their hair pulled every which way, listening to the crashing of water and cry of birds as the sun claws its way closer to the horizon. She won’t bring up the game’s rules so long as it means some semblance of peace for her; at the same time, anticipation has been building in her with each passing hour.</p><p>“What’s the most romantic part about the ocean?” Almira asks abruptly with a certain impudence to her voice.</p><p>“This is a riddle?” Blair asks, both eager and uncertain, all teasing. “Anyone could answer anything. Are you trying to take back my win? I did not think you would be such a sore loser.”</p><p>“No, vampire king, it’s when the buoy meets the gull.”</p><p>Blair smiles and laughs even as he half rolls his eyes. She gets up and walks towards the water. The sound of movement behind her has her looking back over her shoulder, and their gazes meet. His pale eyes glow and spark in the soft oranges, pinks and blues. Suddenly, there is an urge that Almira cannot ignore—she turns away from him but listens closely. The shifting of linen and sand grows closer. When it is close enough to overcome her, she darts off to the side as though spotting something.</p><p>Suddenly, she cries out, falling, and finds herself under Blair. Huffing and holding back laughter that threatens to bubble up from her heavy chest, Almira stares up at him, slightly annoyed. He didn’t even bother playing along. At her expression, Blair lets go and backs off—and again, Lilitu’s words reach her. She reaches over and hooks her finger under his chin. Blair’s chin lifts but his gaze lowers and darkens to meet hers.</p><p>And Almira likes the look on him. She lets her hand drop to his arm with the slightest tug, he falls forward over her again.</p><p><em>Until tomorrow</em>, she tells herself. Reality is for tomorrow.</p><p>He leans down and kisses her. It is playful, filled with nips and pretends bites and tugs of teeth and laughter and smiles. He moves down her neck but not below, back up to her jaw and her ears, over her eyelids to the tip of her nose. And in that moment, he is not Blair the Vampire King. She does not feel like a decoy. Cherished in a way she has not felt in years, even with the best of her lovers. She is sinking into the sand and more, sinking below, far below, head up in the clouds as they turn as heather magenta.</p><p> </p><p>After finishing her supper in the dining room to catch up with her ladies, Almira is halfway up the stairs when she finds Blair waiting at the top. He takes her by the hand and leads her back to his room. Once the door is shut, she is in his arms. He brushes her hair back away from her shoulders. She shivers against the cool night air, the sun long gone.</p><p>When he bites, there is no pain, hardly even a mild discomfort. He trembles against her as always, as if he is a famished animal who has come upon a feast but eats too much too soon. His hands grip her waist. One of her hands rests against the back of his hand, the other holds his hand, just in case it should turn painful.</p><p>Blair lets her go and takes a moment to recollect himself, for his fangs to retract and his eyes to refocus and his mind to clear. She could kill him in those moments after feeding, she realizes, and she runs a hand through his hair, letting her hand trail down to his shoulder. Blair blinks and lets her go, still dazed, to fetch his mint and wash his mouth.</p><p>He sits on the bed and pulls Almira over his lap so she has to straddle him, pushing her skirt up. “I believe I won a game,” he smirks.</p><p>Almira reaches around to pull out his pony’s tail and brush the strands away that frame his face. His eyes study her face as she searches his. His sharp bones and angles, his sharp nose and chin. His raw eyes. Too raw. She can read him as plain as a children’s picture book. The desire for her, to please her, even when given the win of scravat. She truly has become his courtesan. With her hands on either side of his face, she leans down and kisses him.</p><p>There is a clarity in the kiss, tender in its fervor, delicate but sure and firm. Still amateur on how to navigate his fangs, Almira lets Blair take lead. Heat rises in her cheeks at the minty metal taste. He kisses like he wants to eat her whole but won’t, like he is holding back a starved dragon and the effort is too much. A shiver runs through him, jumps to Almira, and spreads over her skin as raised gooseflesh. When he breaks just for a moment of air, she finds her hands have crawled their way back up to his neck and into his hair.</p><p>She is pulling him closer. She is pulling him in. She gasps, Blair’s hand on her neck, his other on her back. She is swaying with the outside waves, clinging to him to anchor her. She is more than willing should he chose to employ his use of his scravat win tonight.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Illusions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Twelve: Illusions  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>When Almira wakes up late in bed alone, she fears having been left behind—but no, that makes no sense. And sound comes from the bathroom. Blair walks out, naked, and Almira deflates into the pillows out of relief.</p><p>“Why did you not wake me?” she asks. “We have to leave.”</p><p>“Do we?” he asks, slipping under the covers and wrapping his arms around her.</p><p>She pulls back to look him square in the eyes. “Are you thinking of putting going back off?” He doesn’t respond. “You did not. For <em>sex</em>?”</p><p>“I have already won one war,” he says and pulls her close. “I have another to win. Your ladies were given a choice, they will arrive back at the capitol tonight. Do you wish to have gone with them?”</p><p>Almira eyes Blair as he makes his way up her arm. He reaches her shoulder, and she wraps her arm around the back of his neck. The soft pillows and salty air and his pale gray eyes are intoxicating.</p><p>“No,” she admits. “I would rather stay here forever.”</p><p>
  <em>Especially now that they will know we’ve spent an extra day here. . .. I was not made to be queen. I want to escape. </em>
</p><p>“I don’t want to go back,” she murmurs, blinking rapidly, and, slipping from him, sits up. She pulls on a robe at the edge of the bed as if she has not walk back and forth around the room naked, tying it tightly around her waist, and goes into the bathroom.</p><p>The door opens even after she has shut it and turns on the hot water for the tub. Seeing Blair, she turns her back on him to wipe the rogue tears that have slipped. She could almost be happy here. The power she felt she had now looks like an deluded state when facing their return to the capitol. She had resigned herself to the fact last night. Had distracted herself from it until she was so exhausted there was no possibility of lying awake to scrutinize herself or the future.</p><p>Blair takes her hand and kisses her palm. She slips it from his grasp, clinging to her own robe and eyeing him. He doesn’t leave, but he does feign interest in the herbs and soaps on the counter set out. She picks up the foaming soap and gets started on setting up her bubble bath.</p><p>Blair comes around to put in lavender oil and herbs and chamomile teabags. He brings over rose and ginger when she stops him with a hand on his arm. She doesn’t need to be swimming in it all.</p><p>“I will have rose milk made for tonight’s bath,” he says and dips out of the room.</p><p>As strange as it is after the last two nights, Almira takes the chance to slip into the murky, bubbly water while he is gone. As she suspected, Blair is soon back in his own black satin robe. He carries in a stool that looks like it came from some storage closet and that maids use to clean hard-to-reach areas of the house. Sitting beside her, he leans against the tub edge and cracks open a book.</p><p>It is strangely domestic. Too domestic. But Almira choses to focus on the bath. There is already enough to worry; an oddly domestic vampire should be the least of her worries.  The water is hot; Blair commented on how she likes it scalding last night when he tried to join her only to leap back with a yip that sounded like it came from a small dog and not the Mollikian king. She could not recall laughing so hard in years, as much as he disliked being compared to a spitz. That was her nickname, after all, he said.</p><p>There is movement beside Almira, and she opens one eye slightly to see Blair and his stool having disappeared. Then, a scrape against the floor behind her—and she jerks away from the source. Blair peers at her innocently, having moved to the spot behind Almira, with a bar of shampoo soap in one hand.</p><p>She settles back into her spot, arms moving to the sides of the tub, and Blair begins washing her long hair. He massages along her scalp, returning every couple of minutes to it even as he works his way down to the ends. She sighs contentedly and deflates into the water, almost floating.</p><p>When she blinks awake at the lack of motion and massaging behind her, Almira realizes she fell asleep. Blair’s placed her hair back in the water, having washed the soap out of what he could. Languidly, her arms fall into the water. He moves to stand, and she watches him, feeling a familiar heat pool in her core. She has the growing urge to pin him down and eat him. His robe is wet at the front, his hand frothy with soap, and he starts towards the bowl of water when her gaze catches his eye. Shaking the sleep off, Almira reaches out to him and takes his soap hand.</p><p>“Yes, my dear?” he murmurs when she pulls him close and he sits on the tub edge.</p><p>She smiles, cocking her head. “Thank you,” she murmurs back.</p><p>And promptly pulls him into the tub. Water spills over the edges, splashing against the floor. She doesn’t care to think about whether it means the flooring will be ruined and need to be replaced. Blair, soaked up to his neck, grips the one side of tub edges as his legs dangle over the other side and his bottom rests between her legs.</p><p>“Aye, you are something,” Blair mutters, exasperated, but in an amused lilt. When he looks at her, he is grinning.</p><p>Almira ducks under the water to rinse the last of the soap out, and when she resurfaces, Blair has tossed his robe and is moving to settle into the tub across from her.</p><p>“It’s still quite warm,” he remarks when she reaches forward to take him in her hands. His own hands grip the tub edges; his face goes from amused to heated and unhumorous. “I didn’t wash your hair for a trinket, Lolotte,” he says darkly.</p><p>Almira leans forward. “I know,” she whispers against his lips and kisses him. “I don’t do trinkets.”</p><p> </p><p>By the time they have finished bathing, the water is soiled, and they have to get out earlier than usual. Almira is both impressed and in wonderment over herself. To attack him is one thing. To <em>want</em> to attack him and act on it is another. Blair is positively glowing and gloating; even if only mentally, the grin and smug air give him away. It almost, <em>almost</em> makes Almira regret instigating the act for a sense of pride bubbles up in the pit of her stomach. Besides, he actually helps her dress, even if it does result in something taking twice as long as it should.</p><p>By lunchtime, her lips are numb and her body tingles with nerves as open as raw wires. Towards the end of her lunch, she again finds herself nervous, but she has found herself on a roll, and like falling dominoes, she either cannot or will not—she’s unsure which or if it even matters now—stop.</p><p>Done with her meal, Almira slips out of her chair and into Blair’s lap, flicking her hair over her shoulder. The way he looks at her could be an undoing. His undoing. He regards her simultaneously hungrily and reverently, and she returns it with greed and resolution. If anything, that only fans the flames. He takes her hand, and she tilts her head. It is muscle memory now. She could do it without even thinking.</p><p>Blair feeds. What was once a scorching wildfire has liquified into flowing lava. What was a severe sting not throbs mildly and drags through her veins as her blood is pulled towards his needle-like teeth. It’s more uncomfortable than painful, and she absentmindedly is surprised over it becoming almost painless so quickly. How easy. How simple-seeming it all has become.</p><p>Even as he shakes beneath her, Blair detaches from her neck with the kind of ease that comes from life-long practice. She holds him to her, running a hand down his hair. Without the fear, though it lingers in the back of her mind, she sees him for what he meant. All nervousness gone, she once again thinks of stabbing him. The satisfaction it would bring, however temporary. And she thinks of what else he has said and done. She can’t kill him. Not yet. His followers would be quick to burn her alive. Who knows what would happen to vampires like Lilitu. No, she has a new goal Lilitu has set before her.</p><p>Almira doesn’t need to stab him to fight to regain power. Weapons are useless little trinkets for those like Blair who need to lead people, to keep people on his side and beneath him. She just needs to keep him where he is: beneath her, trembling, vulnerable and needy. As he comes down from his high, Almira kisses him, tasting her own blood in his mouth. Today she just needs to convince him that he needs her and that it can only be her. There is no thought of tomorrow until later.</p><p>Almira cleans the blood from his tongue, still careful to avoid his fangs. When she is done, he moves to continue to kiss her, if not on the mouth then at the neck, but she stands. As if by instinct, he starts to lean forward to follow her until he realizes she has stood. He blinks the bleariness from his eyes. As they clear and focus, Almira slips off the robe she wears to replace it with a bathing gown. But Blair is predictable in this little beach château, and playfully attacks from behind.</p><p>They do not get to the beach until two hours later, well into the afternoon. A vampire’s—or at least Blair’s—idea of a bathing suit is severely lacking compared to what Almira is used to, and she is not sure how to feel about running around naked on the beach when she remembers it is just them. Hers doesn’t stay on for very long after it keeps the cold water plastered to her skin.</p><p>The sun beams down, warming the coarse sand, and the breeze keeps the air cool. They waste no time wading into the sea. The water deliciously cool, Blair is quicker than her to leave, but he always returns long enough to throw her back in. By the time they are soaked and both naked, Almira finds herself pinned in the sand beneath Blair. She is playing right into his arms, and he is playing right into hers. There is an unspoken awareness of it between them. She grows in confidence and it feeds her own hunger for him.</p><p>But once the sand reaches places it is not meant to be, Almira tells him off. Her hair is a knotted, sandy, damp mess no matter how patient she tries to be with it. Blair pulls a blanket from one of his saddlebags, and Almira yells at him for not pulling it out sooner.</p><p>“Without is more fun,” he shrugs but as he turns back to re-tie the saddlebag, she spots a smirk. She watches him lay down the blanket, tells him to bring her the towel from her saddlebag, and plops down. When he does as she bade, she shoves him into the sand.</p><p>For a second, Blair is shocked. Then, he snags her towel and uses it to dry his sandy hair, shaking it out like an animal as she half-laughing yells at him to stop. He does, holding out the wet and dirtied towel. She takes it, begrudgingly amused as how immature his playfulness can become. The sun has begun to sink by then, and even Almira’s energy wanes. Blair’s skin has sunken slightly, and she sees that he is more exhausted than he lets on. She pulls him onto the blanket, where he dramatically collapses and laughs at himself. Almira lays half on top of him.</p><p>“You are entirely different,” she says without thinking.</p><p>“In what way?” he asks, eyes shut. “Human versus vampire?”</p><p>She has already dug the hole; after all that has happened, she has a grave waiting for her, might as well dig a little deeper. “No,” she says. “From how you are at Aberdaron.”</p><p>Blair doesn’t respond right away. She catches the twitch between his eyebrows as he thinks. “As are you,” he says.</p><p>“The difference is you will think that you have to return to how you were.”</p><p>“I saw how you looked when I first showed another side of myself. You are uncertain which side is the real mean. Do you not have more than one side?”</p><p>“I have many sides, but only one face.”</p><p>Almira’s breath catches in her throat when Blair sits up, forcing her to get off him. His eyes are sharp as a leopard’s, but he is like a rabbit braced to run.</p><p>“When sides are too different from one another, they become another face.”</p><p>“I didn’t take you for a philosopher.”</p><p>“It’s not philosophy, it’s common sense.”</p><p>“I don’t wish to talk of it.” Dismissively, he lays back down and shuts his eyes.</p><p>Almira walks on her knees back to him and straddles him. He tenses beneath her, eyes opening into thin slits. With her elbows by his pointy ears, she lays over him on her forearms. Her hands fall over and tangle in his hair, coarse with so much sand and salt in it.</p><p>“Lolotte, are you naturally driven to such unpleasant topics or just naturally driven to drive another being mad?”</p><p>“Are you instinctively driven to run from it or is it a choice, king?”</p><p>Blair sits up so fast Almira doesn’t have enough time to scramble back. His hand forcefully snares into her hair. It doesn’t hurt but it keeps her from moving. She needs to know how far she can go, though, and she can’t find out without testing him. She tilts her chin up, baring her neck while staring down at him.</p><p>“I thought we had a deal,” Blair murmurs. “So long as you behave, I can be nice.”</p><p>
  <em>Submission.</em>
</p><p>“And yet,” she whispers, leaning forward even as it ignites a spark of pain along her scalp.</p><p>“I don’t care how you behave behind closed doors,” he says. “If anything, I have found you even more submissive.”</p><p>Almira jerks against his grip, but his expression is far from genuine mock. He wants to distract, and she knows she’s easy to get a rise out of. Almira lifts her hand to his cheek. Her nails have grown over the past week, a couple chipped or torn, and their jagged edges scrape against his ashen skin.</p><p>“I will never marry you if you don’t see me as an equal.” This is the only point on which Almira refuses to cave. For one, it will mean something to her people. For another, she cannot be sure it will not become even more difficult to undermine him or that he will even care what she wants once he gets what he wants.</p><p>“You will,” he says. “Or you will die an old, forgotten courtesan, and I will groom whatever you pop out—”</p><p>The sound of her palm against his cheek resounds through her skull, and she finds both wrists locked in his iron-clad grip. She is trembling, and his anger rolls off of him and crashes into her like the waves against the shore. His fangs are bared in a warning. The sun is suddenly hot and the wind biting, making the salt sting and the dampness cold.</p><p>“I think if anything, you were once this side of you, but you grew up and you let the world twist you until you became what people told you and did to you. This face of yours is the fake one. You revert too quickly to your kingly mask for it to be a mask.”</p><p>“Then you are no different than anyone else,” Blair bites back.  </p><p>Though shaken, Almira is determined to see her part through. She needs to regain control. She softens, lowering her chin so their eyes meet and she no longer mocks him with false, challenging submission and dares. His grip loosens only when she gently tugs against it, her hands gliding against his forearms to his shoulders, up his neck. Her thumbs gingerly press behind his ears as he stares warily at her. They move to the back of his neck, crossing and pulling her closer to him.</p><p><em>I wouldn’t be right here if I was</em>, she thinks.</p><p>“Maybe,” she says meaningfully: <em>Maybe not—and we both know it</em>.</p><p>“When you cause trouble,” he says, “it will hurt both of us, and it will certainly hurt you more.”</p><p>“You will make sure of it,” Almira says, lowering her eyes to the pink mark on his cheek.</p><p>“Masks can be switched around, but they will always be a part of us. How you act determines my mask.”</p><p>“And how others at court perceive you.”</p><p>“Determined by how you act in front of them, from rumors that circulate. I have never been to a court that doesn’t enjoy idle gossip.”</p><p>Almira soaks up the information, the way Blair sees things. Her tools, her pieces to a makeshift key of her cage. He needs to think he is in charge. That she has no power. He needs an illusion, and she needs puppet strings. Now to get them, to secure them so tightly they cut off his circulation.</p><p>She also needs something to prevent pregnancy, but to get that she needs an insider—but vampires are known for their fierce loyalty to one another. Perhaps a job for her queen and fellow ladies. She cannot draw attention to herself anymore.</p><p>Almira tilts her head to the side. “Promise me one thing,” she says before Blair can move. “If I am to relinquish some of my own agency, it will be an entirely new concept to me. It will require patience on your part.”</p><p>“I can be very patient, but I also choose to keep it finite. Only small slips will be allowed.” Without waiting for her to fight him further, he bites down.</p><p>Knowing what is to come, Almira is satisfied for now. No matter how angry he is with her, he needs to feed, and when he feeds, he will become little more than a lost child looking for its mother in a panicked crowd. And so, control is as much an illusion for him as it is for her.</p><p> </p><p>By the time they return to the cottage, there is not a sign they argued but for a lingering tickle at the lower back of Almira’s neck. A reminder, an instinct. Things aren’t what they appear. The beach is another illusion, and reality will return soon. But reality is a dreadful thing—necessary but no less dreadful—and she decides to keep her rose-tinted glasses on until they have to leave tomorrow morning. No more serious testing or challenging. Seriousness is the cure, and for now, Almira will take the illness.</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Slippery Slope of Postwar Sovereignty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry it's late. Thank you for 200+ hits!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Thirteen: Slippery Slope of Postwar Sovereignty</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The following morning, Almira wakes early before the sun does. The anxiety she’s stamped down again and again is creeping its way back up to her consciousness. Suddenly, the covers itch, and her legs feel restless. She slips away, wrapping herself in a thick cotton robe, and over to the balcony. Shutting her eyes, she listens to the waves, hunching a little to rest her head against her arms crossed over the handrail. It’s distracting, something else to focus on, and lulling. She sways slightly, her mind echoing the sound and her body mimicking.</p><p>For how long she stays like that, she’s not sure. The sun has not passed the horizon but when someone steps out onto the balcony, an amber and gold haze lines where the sky meets the sea. Almira lifts her head so her chin rests against her arm, eyes closed. Blair comes up behind, caging her against the railing. A soft kiss against the back of her neck, and she is following him back as he straightens. Her back releases the tension it held. Hands rub against her shoulder.</p><p>And then, a wave of acrimony and dismay hits Almira. She walks back inside and goes to the bathroom to get ready. The time for selfish, indulgent fun is over. Any further enjoyment will distract and hurt.</p><p>Blair seems to have enough sense to give her space. He waits until she’s done in the bathroom to go in, having dressed already in charcoal and emerald, warm and comfortable traveling clothes. His sword and daggers lay on the bed, glinting against the rising sun as though to taunt her.</p><p>When looking at her clothes, she has saved two options for returning home: her own style or vampiric. What impression to give? Almira picks the dress with layered skirts. Her own style will be more comforting anyways. As she walks out of the wardrobe, the door shuts.</p><p>She’s alone in the room. Immediately her eyes fly around, searching. His sword and daggers are gone. As quiet as possible, Almira shifts through the drawers until she finds an envelope opener and slips it where her skirt layers meet her top, tucking it between two layers. She will behave so long as he does.</p><p>Almira goes to the door, listening only to not hear anything, and peers out. A little down the hallway, Amoret looks up from where she sits against the wall on the floor. She stands. Eyes, warning. Almira shuts the door. A moment later, servants enter to pack up everything. They make swift work of it. Five minutes later, after going to sit outside and watch the sun climb, Blair returns. He stands straight, stiff and full of that vampire scorn.</p><p>“The coach is here,” he says.</p><p>Almira stalks up to him, taking his arm. Amoret follows them outside, assisting with one of the chests. Lilitu is talking with the driver while a boy takes the horses from the stable. Almira leaves Blair to go up to the stables, though she can feel him watching her from the corner of his eye. She walks past a few horses to the stallion she rescued a few days ago.</p><p>When she returns to the coach, Blair murmurs that someone had been called. “So, he’ll be fine within a couple of weeks,” he says. “He’ll stay here, though, and never pull another carriage.” Blair assists her into the carriage and climbs in. The carriage is smaller and will travel faster.</p><p>Sleep deprived, the cushions and blankets coax Almira into a half-asleep state before they have even left. She watches as the château grows smaller, the sun climbs higher, and the beach gets further away. Sand and salt are replaced by magenta heather and sage. The earthen scent fills the coach as it rocks over the path. As the air around her warms under the sun, the morning fog burns off, and she falls into a deep sleep.</p><p> </p><p>Almira wakes when the coach rolls to a stop. She squints against sunlight, made hazy from the dust that collected against the windows, when Blair crosses over to her side. She is wide awake and frozen, relaxing once she realizes how tense she became.</p><p>“It’ll be better while we’re stopped,” he says.</p><p>Almira nods. “Why didn’t you just do it back at the beach?”</p><p>“You seemed. . .,” he says, “tired.”</p><p>Blair’s arm slips behind Almira along the back of the seat, situating them closer to one another. A familiar tingle of nerves goes off. Almira shifts against the seat, sitting up. Shadows move outside the window.</p><p>“Wait,” she says.</p><p>“We can see through them, but no one can see inside,” Blair coaxes, jutting his chin towards the door. “Go and check if you want.”</p><p>Almira doesn’t see why he would lie and shakes her head. Then, with a puff of breath, Blair sinks his fangs into her neck. The skin breaks, quick and smooth as his daggers, and he drinks. She can feel the pull under her skin.</p><p>A knock against the door makes Almira jump and shift. Blair’s hand grabs her neck to keep her in place. He slowly slips out as the door opens.</p><p>“There’s a problem,” Lilitu says. “We’ve been barricaded in. The first coach isn’t anywhere to be seen.”</p><p>Blair steps around Almira, who is pushed gently against the seat, and steps out, slamming the door. Almira stares at the door, numb. His face, enraged, the blood around his mouth, even as tremors shook through the rest of him. So that’s who—or perhaps, what—the king becomes when general.  </p><p>Despite never having understood the strategy side of wars, losing to him is so much more conceivable now. Before, even though it had happened, there was room for denial. Her queen is too intelligent to allow for anything less than success, or so she had thought.</p><p>A coldness spreads over Almira: this could be just the beginning for Blair and the vampires. The start of a new Alexander the Great. Which side to be on. <em>Which side am I on right now, sitting in this coach?</em> Her neck stings. Fear keeps her rooted to the cushion beneath. The blanket weighs heavily in her lap.</p><p>There’s shouting, and Almira has opened the door before the motion registers what she’s doing, what she’s already done.</p><p>Horses are pulling against their lines, moving away from the action. A few rise up on their hide legs. Shutters are closed against windows or squares of wood have been propped up against the glass. A line of three old coaches blocks the way ahead.</p><p>Someone falls to the ground with a <em>thud,</em> and a cloud of dust rises around them. The coach driver is slumped over in his seat, and another person—someone unfamiliar, a human—lays on the ground at Lilitu’s feet, her blade partially slick and darkened. Of those who stand and face the thirteen vampires, four are bleeding. Bile rises up in Almira’s throat. She swallows it back down, suddenly overly aware of all the attention directed to her.</p><p>Feet shuffle behind the coaches, gathering at the spaces between to look through, to spot their queen. Their weapons range from a machete to scythe to a crudely sharpened branch. A horse not tethered down races past Almira. The horse runs free. At the sight of nothing and no one behind, Almira’s blood boils.</p><p>When Blair steps away from three humans—by the looks of their boots, dirtied linen, tough pants and weathered face, farmers—Lilitu, Amoret, and the other vampires step back. The humans freeze; some confused, others angry and torn.</p><p>For a moment, Almira is uncertain how to react. Her brain blanks before abruptly launching forward and racing. She will have to choose between the two sides. These laborers and their families will always come first, but she cannot assume they will understand her desire to undermine Blair covertly. But to be overt now when everything is just beginning to be set up risks everything.</p><p>Almira is almost angry at the human faces until her eyes drop to the dead body again. These people are not trained. They are not soldiers. Even swarmed, the vampires are the superior warriors. Even with a way out, they choose to fight.</p><p>“You could have turned the coach around,” Almira tells Blair pointedly. Her voice doesn’t waver, though there is a strained sound to it. Her throat is tight and her mouth dry. She keeps her gaze trained on Blair, the cracking bloodstains at his mouth and liquid fire in his eyes, to avoid the bodies and to try to convince everyone around that that strained sound comes from something with a stronger foundation than fear and a weak stomach. Disgust, perhaps. Anger, perhaps. Derision, more likely.</p><p>Instinctually, Almira’s gaze shifts to the men pointing their weapons at the vampires. Fear shines amongst the confusion and rage swirling within their eyes, bodies tensed for a sudden attack as they steal looks at Almira, seemingly afraid to look away from the vampires for too long.</p><p>“Is there no other way around?” Almira asks.</p><p>Blair stares at her so blankly that it is both confuddling and terrifying. She can imagine how terribly painful this will be, if only she can get them out of this. When Blair doesn’t answer, Amoret speaks up.</p><p>“They killed the driver, and no others will take his place.”</p><p>“We’ve all ridden horses,” Almira presses, her voice going high before she clears her throat. “Is that not similar enough?”</p><p>“She’s siding with them,” someone from behind one of the coaches says. “She’s helping them escape!”</p><p>The young man steps out from behind the coach. He cannot be older than twenty and brash and bold as they come. Almira feels a sting of envy.</p><p>“You’ve left your own people behind,” he says. “We will not be ruled by a vampire—or a who—a woman who lays with one!”</p><p>Blair steps back with a deep, mock bow as though introducing Almira onto a stage instead of before a group of angry, aggressive people. Almira walks into the group of people on this side of the coach line. There must be at least twenty.</p><p>Standing before the young man, she asks, “Your name?”</p><p>“It matters not.”</p><p>“If you fight,” she says, “you will die. <em>That</em> is what I’m trying to prevent.”</p><p>“You don’t know that,” he snarls loudly. “Had you not slipped out from your precious haven, our ambush would be over, and <em>he</em> would be captured. You stopped us.”</p><p>An idea sparks. “Come to Aberdaron,” she whispers. “Surrender. Pretend to be making amends, and you will work with me.”</p><p>“I’d rather die.”</p><p>Almira stares at him in shock.</p><p>“Your pigheadedness will get everyone here massacred,” she hisses. “Is that what you want?”</p><p>“Your blindness has killed us already.”</p><p>Now Almira’s frustration is morphing into anger.</p><p>“Diplomacy does not happen overnight.”</p><p>“No, just in bed.”</p><p>“Reuel,” hisses one of the men.</p><p>Almira turns to him. He’s older with broad shoulders, strong arms, and white scruff covering his face.</p><p>“Your Majesty,” he says with a bow of his head. “I’m Laisren. Reuel is my son. Please—”</p><p>“He’s fine,” Almira says curtly. “I want to end this quickly, though. The vampires are a draconian sort. It seems none of them will drive, and if I am honest, I am not sure I could get us back. I’d rather not have another man here killed.” She looks at Pater. “If you were trained, yes, I would let you run amuck—but if you were trained, you would know not to. You have left an option for escape and they have chosen not to take it. They are prideful, yes, but not stupid.” She adds begrudgingly, “They won, after all, did they not?”</p><p>By this point, the people have gathered closely around her. Those closest to the vampires keep their weapons maladroitly poised and ready. Those behind the coaches have edged out but still maintain a distance. Faces pop up through shutters cracked open.</p><p>“I will go, I can drive,” says another young man. His is lanky Reuel but with their father’s lean stature. “If it means I can train.”</p><p>“And if I cannot guarantee that?” Almira says.</p><p>He shrugs. “I’ll learn,” he says. “If I work for you, then I’ll be at the heart.”</p><p>“Do you agree to listen to what I tell you?” She is unwavering. There is no room for error.</p><p>“So long as I trust your judgment.”</p><p>“Wait, Jedrik,” says Reuel. “I’m going, too.”</p><p>“You two, come,” Almira says loud enough for the nearest vampire to hear. Immediately, the group of vampires perk up and watch with interest as she leads the two young men forward. She locks eyes with Blair, who remains cold in his amused detachment. His courtier mask. He knows she plans to negotiate. And as amused as the curl of his lips appears, there is no true enjoyment to be found. His amusement is wintry and artificial and entirely derisive.</p><p>“These two will drive us back,” Almira says. “They’ll enter servitude at Aberdaron rather than work their inherited land.”</p><p>“And the coaches?” Blair asks, waving at the group of people. “I came in one way. I will go out one way.” He looks to them, “Whether you like it or not, I <em>am</em> your king.” And back to Almira, “I don’t care how many of them you collect. You collected them before as an army, and yet I am here, my dear. They will move or they will be made to.”</p><p>“Jedrik,” Almira calls.</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty?”</p><p>“Have them move,” she orders.</p><p>Reuel’s fists ball at his sides. Jedrik takes the scythe from him and walks back to the small crowd, discussing in hushed tones. With a tilt of his chin, Blair beckons Almira closer. His hand darts out to the back of her head, pulling her close as if to embrace. His fingers tangle into her hair and pull painfully.</p><p>“Once we are back in Aberdaron,” he whispers, his breath smelling of blood. “You and your ladies and these boys, any human sworn to you, will have no second chances.”</p><p>Almira puts her hand on his arm to guide it away. “Well, I hope in Aberdaron there are no ambushes awaiting with a clear escape option.”</p><p>“I <em>will</em> be respected as sovereign.”</p><p>“Earn it.”</p><p>Blair looks up at movement. The coaches are being pulled away. Men go to any horses that remain restless to soothe them. The bodies are carried to the side of the road.</p><p>“And the first carriage?” Blair asks but by the tone, he knows the answer. His eyes are trained on Almira. A sinking feeling drops her stomach, gravity suddenly that much heavier.</p><p>No one answers. It’s enough of an answer for Blair, though, and he brushes past Almira. The vampires form a loose circle around the carriage, fetching a horse by pairs. Almira makes sure Reuel and Jedrik settle at the front, Lilitu and Amoret at the back, before ignoring Blair’s hand. She goes around to where Lilitu and Amoret is and empties her stomach where only they and two other vampires can see. The sound is washed out by the neighing of horses and movement of people but the smell carries. Almira is quick to climb into the carriage, clear about ignoring Blair’s hand.</p><p>He slams the door shut. “I am admittedly disappointed but not surprised,” he says. “Enlightening, though, on what you will do in the face of a real problem.”</p><p>“I solved the problem.”</p><p>“I would have as well.”</p><p>“I solved the problem <em>peacefully</em>.”</p><p>“I wonder, had they been vampires, were you me, what would you do?”</p><p>“First, I would have turned the coach around—”</p><p>“Driver’s dead.”</p><p>“I would have ordered Lilitu or someone else to drive. We would have gone home the long way.”</p><p>“Where they know the land better than us. Where they lay waiting with bigger numbers.”</p><p>“You don’t know that.”</p><p>“It was a risk I’d rather not take.”</p><p>“You would have won either way.”</p><p>“Why waste the energy, the time, the lives?”</p><p>“You were ready a moment ago.”</p><p>With that, the carriage moves. Blair lets the momentum carry him, sliding forward on his seat so she has no choice but to sit so close to him. Almira looks out the window, determined, watching nervously as they pass through the people. Once out of town, she feels ill from the swaying. The bodies. The smell of blood so close. She pushes against his shoulder.</p><p>“Stay back unless you want to be vomited on,” she warns, shutting her eyes and moving a hand over her mouth. Blair jerks back. She doesn’t move from that position for what feels like hours. The nausea slowly leaves as they rock. Her muscles ache. There is a dull throb at the back of her head. She wishes to never see another dead body ever again. Human, vampire, even a fish.</p><p> </p><p>The return trip is dreadful. Almira’s apprehension grows with each clop of the horses’ hooves. Blair appears to be sleeping but Almira knows better. Arms and legs crossed, he isn’t relaxed enough. Even his face maintains its sharp tension, his head resting back against the cushioned wall of the coach. She would never say anything, but he sometimes mutters in his sleep, though it’s never anything useful or of sense. But he has not said anything since the ambush.</p><p>The ambush. Almira is not surprised, but frustrated and angry. Angry it happened, angry at why it happened. She could try to kill him now that they are alone. She envisions it, driving the envelope opener through his chest, but again, what would his death bring but more problems—and out here surrounded by other vampires, her own death along. No doubt Reuel’s and Jerdik’s, too.</p><p>She now has two more lives to watch over closely, but also two more lives to help her, to advise her. People who, like her grandmother, would have seen firsthand the destruction of war. Reuel is a risk, he will take convincing, but by the looks of it, he doesn’t stray far from his brother. Jedrik, from what she’s seen, will prove reliable. Blair has made it clear he suspects what she will use them for, though.</p><p>In the quiet hours that pass on the way back to Aberdaron, though, Almira thinks. The windows have been rolled down a crack to let in fresh air. Her mind is clear and darting from idea to idea, possibility to possibility. Somehow, gradually, she feels sure again, shedding the shocking, fickle precariousness and terrifying impermanence of seeing death. She just has to keep Reuel in line, which may mean revealing to him more than she would like, and convince Blair, which always leads to giving up some piece of autonomy. The slippery slope of postwar sovereignty.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Your Definition of Good</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Fourteen: Your Definition of Good </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>When they finally arrive home, Almira’s nerves chew at her insides and yet their nibbling leaves behind a feeling of buzzing numbness, rather than anxiety. If the ambush is anything to go off of, Almira knows two things: humans are restless and angry and the vampires aren’t going to give in willingly or easily. A guard had to rid ahead just to warn the other vampires that two humans would be returning with them to ensure Jedrik and Reuel wouldn’t get shot with arrows as soon as their shabby clothes and non-pointy ears were spotted. Even so, the vampires watched closely as they passed the checkpoint, asking more questions than usual until Blair rolled down the window and told them to move on.</p><p>A third thing comes to mind as they roll into the courtyard: she is exhausted after today. The feel of the carriage slowly, the sight of the castle, the thought of bed, it fills her with a single-minded purpose: <em>sleep</em>. She knows it likely won’t be hours until she can sleep, but she can dream for a moment.</p><p>The carriage stops. Stiff, Almira stretches as Blair steps out. They go into the castle, Almira checking over her shoulder that Jedrik and Reuel are safely following. Leandro’s familiar face is a comforting welcome until she sees the lines that have carved into his face.</p><p>Blair separates from them without a word. Lilitu tells Amoret to lead them upstairs to the ladies before ambling after her king. As soon as they reach the bedroom door, though, Almira only feels dread. She stayed behind with Blair. But, she has two extra people.</p><p>Breathing in deeply, Almira steps in. Immediately, the ladies except for Xande flock to her. They fall quiet when Jedrik and Reuel walk in and shut the door. Xande comes forward. The ladies step back to let her through.</p><p>“I’ve enlisted help. They’ll be able to act as errand boys,” Almira says. “And I need to discuss something with you ladies in private later. But for now, this is Reuel and this is Jedrik.”</p><p>Almira walks around Xanthe, appearing as apologetic as she can, and moves into the room, away from the door. These rooms may be soundproof, but Almira has always wondered how much better vampires can hear with those bat-like ears. Almira caught Blair picking up on sounds she couldn’t hear, whether it be a bug or a creak of the floorboards. It makes it nearly impossible to sneak up on him, but she also knows he’s well-trained. Vampires, after all, don’t just inherit the throne, they earn it, and she’s heard it can be a bloody affair.</p><p>The women form a semi-circle to face Almira and the boys. Xanthe stands at Almira’s side.</p><p>“They’re going to train while they’re here,” Almira murmurs, overly conscious of how loud her voice is or isn’t. There is an embarrassing hoarseness she hadn’t noticed before from the commotion that she tries to cover up with a fake cough. “Whatever they learn they can teach us, too. When they aren’t training, I want at least one of them with you.”</p><p>“Did you speak to it?” Reuel asks. “About when we’ll start.”</p><p>It. Blair. Almira is put off by the language, but she knows it will enable her to play up to him.</p><p>“Vampires are cunning, we all know that,” Almira says. “You cannot rush into anything when it involves them. If you are overt, they will see it acres away. You saw how they had a guard ride ahead just so you wouldn’t get shot before coming within range. I have not told him because if I brought it up right away he would know. He already suspects you. Don’t give him reason to anymore. We will win by letting him think he’s winning.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty,” Jedrik says.</p><p>Almira thinks she sees Xanthe’s eyes narrow, but her face is as impassive as Blair’s. It’s uncanny seeing her queen so robotic.</p><p>“If they are errand boys, ask him to let them train only in self-defense in case vamps get to them,” Iriel suggests.</p><p>“He’s not so sympathetic,” Reida says.</p><p>Almira smiles at Iriel. “While it would be no surprise if Reida turns outright, there’s no hurt in trying,” she says. “I’ll ask in a way that will make him think it’s his own idea.”</p><p>Iriel nods. Damaris hooks her arm with Iriel’s.  </p><p>“You’ll have to be ready to work around a lot of vampires,” Almira tells the two young men. “If you lash out, you may be killed on spot. They won’t be thinking of whatever <em>possible</em> punishment they’ll receive later if you’ve just snapped back at them.”</p><p>“The vampires within the castle keep to themselves,” Estera says. “You’ll need to be extra cautious going into town, though. The farther they are from Blair’s eye, the rougher it gets. Stay as near to the castle as you can. If you do go down to the town, don’t go at night and don’t go alone.”</p><p>Damaris nods eagerly in agreement.</p><p>“It is going to sound weird,” Almira says, “but if you need to go to a vampire for whatever reason, make sure it is the ones called Lilitu or Amoret. They are the most sympathetic to humans, as far as I can tell. Lilitu stood on the back of the carriage, and Amoret the shorter guard with darkened skin.”</p><p>Jedrik opens his mouth, but Almira cuts in.</p><p>“And I only go by ‘Your Majesty’ in public,” she says. “Inside this room, we’re practically all the same.”</p><p>This time Almira definitely sees Xanthe’s eyes narrow. <em>But what am I supposed to do? Tell them you’re the queen? We hardly know them still! </em>Almira wants to tell her.</p><p>“Now, if you’ll step out for just a moment,” Almira says. “The guard is Amoret. No one will bother you.”</p><p>Reuel looks pained he is so thoroughly dubious and disgusted but he follows Jedrik’s motions, starting with a bow and ending with the shutting of the door.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Almira gushes to Xanthe. “We were ambushed. I managed to convince them to come with us, but I don’t know them. I don’t know if they are loyal to the crown or money for their family first. And yes, I stayed late—but not on purpose! It was practically kidnapping. I had no idea, I swear to you!”</p><p>Xanthe stares down at Almira.</p><p>“The rightful crown will get their family money,” she says.</p><p>“If they’re smart, they’ll know where to put their eggs,” Reida mutters. “Farmer boys, though, really?”</p><p>“Those are the people who suffered the most,” Almira says pointedly.</p><p>“Did we not suffer?” Reida growls. “What are we doing here in this little room, trapped?”</p><p>“Enough,” Xanthe says. “Don’t forget your place, Almira. You have given up a lot, you wouldn’t want to have to give up more.”</p><p>A chill shoots down Almira’s spin. <em>Did—did she just threaten me? </em>Almira’s face burns red, but thankfully, the queen takes it as embarrassment and doesn’t lash out.</p><p>“Tell the boys that they’ll receive bountiful wealth so long as they remain loyal and helps us,” Xanthe says coldly. Her eyes, once glowing with jubilation, are hollow with a single spark burning at the center. “No wealth will be comparable.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty,” Almira murmurs, bowing her head as her face stays warm.</p><p>Estera takes her hand and squeezes it. <em>You can do it.</em> Estera doesn’t need to say it for Almira to hear her voice in her head.</p><p>“Is there anything else, Almira?” Xanthe drawls. Her queen sounds so unlike herself. Just a few days they were apart, and an entirely different person stands before Almira. One who won’t let anyone stand in the way of getting what she wants, what she needs.</p><p>“I need a female tonic,” Almira says.</p><p>“We’ll have to go to the market regularly for that,” Xanthe rejoins, turning towards Almira. “Did you not hear Estera earlier?”</p><p>“Your Majesty?” Damaris squeaks.</p><p>The queen’s head whips to the side. Damaris flinches, cowering into herself.</p><p>“There-there’s plants that grow within the castle grounds,” she whispers. “They can help.” With one look, Xanthe prompts her to continue. “One will be oral, wild carrot seed, the other will need to be inserted, acacia gum. If it’s something to be hidden, then carrot seed is best.”</p><p>“Yes, and if we could manage to get to the village, there is a witch,” Estera says.</p><p>“It’ll need to be hidden,” Almira mutters. She never felt ashamed about sex before, but now, she wishes she could bury herself beneath the castle. “And the witch sounds too risky. It will be the kind where I have to go and visit her, right?”</p><p>“Yes, she has more permanent inserts. I heard they’re quite promising.”</p><p>“Too risky,” Xanthe says before Almira can speak again. “Where does the carrot seed grow?”</p><p>“Along the courtyard wall.”</p><p>Xanthe’s eyes bore into Almira’s. “Tell him that you wish to allow us to pick flowers and herbs for you,” she orders. “It should be harmless enough.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“Good. Anything else?”</p><p>Almira is stunned by the callousness. Almira looks at the other ladies. Reida glares. Damaris stares at her palms and the ground. Iriel’s eyes are round. Estera looks like she wishes to say more but cannot.</p><p>It’s worse than Almira imagined. She had been ostracized. Cut off. She is a tool, like the two men standing outside. Feeling like she is standing before a court, Almira lets go of Estera’s hand and steps back.</p><p>“No, Your Majesty,” she says. “Shall I go, then?”</p><p>“You may go,” Xanthe says. “Leave the younger one with us. You may have the calmer one.” It sounds like a favor, but it is said like an insult.</p><p>Stinging, Almira bows and leaves. She tells Reuel he may stay. When he spills into the room, she asks, “Has he retired for the day?”</p><p>“No, Blair is reporting to the council what happened,” Amoret says. “I think he won’t be able to until deep into the night at the earliest. And you?”</p><p>“Yes, I want to.”</p><p>With that, Amoret leads the way back through the castle to her and Blair’s shared room. As Amoret expected, it is empty, to Almira’s relief. The vampire doesn’t bat an eye when Almira has Jedrik come in with her. Almira goes to the chair and collapses. Jedrik walks slowly over.</p><p>“Should I get you anything?” Jedrik asks.</p><p>“Water. There is usually a clean glass in the bathroom.”</p><p>Jedrik disappears into the bathroom and returns with a glass of water. It is cold but refreshing. Finally, in the room, exhaustion catches up to her. She is too tired to cry. She is tired of crying. She is tired of being tired, of being frustrated, of being torn in so many directions, of sleepless nights. Of being little more than a bag of blood. She doesn’t even want to think too much about how the other ladies looked at her. It’s not new, not really. It’s not surprising, not really. Not really. It’s really not.</p><p>Almira rushes into the bathroom, a wave of nausea slamming into her. She wretches and nothing comes. She wretches again and what little she ate that morning leaves her. It’s mostly bile and pain.</p><p>Jedrik stands in the doorway, shocked and concerned. Almira sits on the cold, hard ground. The glass of water she left on the table is in his hand. It’s strangely comforting. She feels warm. Without thinking and without caring, Almira lays down against the floor, pressing her cheek and palms down. Jedrik squats, watching a moment, before sitting. He puts the glass halfway between them.</p><p>“No doubt this is not what you expected,” Almira says wryly.</p><p>“I didn’t know what to expect,” he replies. “But I suppose I should not be surprised to find a stressed out queen.”</p><p>Almira smiles ironically, letting out a soft scoff as she presses her face against the ground. How long they stay like that, Almira isn’t sure. She closes her eyes for what feels like a moment, but in the blink of an eye, the moon is at its height. She shivers, and Jedrik, who laid unmoving in his same place as hours before, jumps.</p><p>He helps her to her feet and half carries her to the bed. Almira looks over at the moon. It looks closer somehow. More beautiful. More iridescent. The prefect cool gray. Her chest aches.</p><p>“Should I stand guard, Your Majesty?” Jedrik says. “Is that what will be expected of me?”</p><p>“For tonight,” she whispers, breathing heavily against the pillow, “Just sleep.”</p><p> </p><p>There is a light gold dusting along the horizon when Blair enters. Jedrik is on his feet in a flash. His speed almost impresses Blair, but the vampire is tired and uninterested and irritable. He ignores Jedrik, going straight to bed without changing. How he manages not to wake Almira, Jedrik cannot imagine. Blair is long and lean and still able to not disturb her. It’s strange to see two royals, unchanged and vulnerable, laying over their blankets out of exhaustion. Their lives suddenly seem morose and lonesome to Jedrik, the glamor and façade stripped away.</p><p>Jedrik doesn’t go back to sleep. His mornings have always started before the sunrise. He sits and he waits and he watches until he too feels lonely. He is used to be outside, working alongside family, yelling at passing friends. Instead, he finds himself immobile and unusually alert. Blair does not move to kill his queen. Jedrik can’t decide if he’s surprised by that or not. Blair does not move to kill Jedrik either, sleeping soundly, but he knows better than to try and murder the king right then and there. After what he saw at the checkpoint, he knows better.</p><p>Perhaps if he were Reuel, he would. He could. But he isn’t, and he can’t. He wants to live past this nightmarish new beginning. He has dreams that go beyond this centuries-old feud. Ones that are simple, ones that to him are more worth than any gold. He wants to live. He wants a family. He wants to grow old. He wants his future child to be happy. At that thought, he can hear Reuel’s voice: “But how will they be happy under vampire rule? When you have to explain to your daughter how she might be raped or to your son how he might be made a whore?” He asked Jedrik so many times that Jedrik, too, picked up the nearest thing he could call a weapon. His dream feels tainted now.</p><p>Even so. He can’t let it go. He doesn’t want to die. Not for some king. Not when there is a queen promising hope. So, he stands guard for his queen even if it means letting the vampire sleep soundly by her side and watches the sun slowly climb and paint the sky.</p><p> </p><p>Almira rolls over, groaning from the discomfort of her dress. There is no one beside her, but the sheets are moved as though someone once was. Blair. She wonders what schemes he’s working on right now. She needs to see him. Needs to hash out getting her contraceptives and getting Reuel and Jedrik what they came for.</p><p>At that thought, Almira jerks and flips around. Sure enough, Jedrik stands a few yards away, looking out the window over the castle and the village and rolling hills in the background.</p><p>“Should I wait until you are decent, Your--er?” he asks. “To turn around, I mean.”</p><p>“I don’t care,” Almira sighs. “This is not my worst look from the past week.” At that, she laughs. Then, she smells it. Something delicious and sweet.</p><p>“It’s jelly toast and fruits,” Jedrik says, having turned around. She thinks he could be handsome if he were a little cleaner. His short hair is lightened and skin, darkened from years under the sun. Brown eyes of a soft yet matured face exude warmth; a stout build and wide shoulders that taper into his waist, strength.</p><p>They’re both in yesterday’s clothes, but Almira can’t be bothered. She finally feels properly rested, having slept through the night for the first time in what feels like eons. Sometimes sleep feels like her only escape from this madness. But there are things she has to get done.</p><p>Almira gets up, dragging herself from the bed, to eat, wash, and get dressed. She picks one of her queen’s old skirts. Its layers are ruby red and a vivid burgundy. It reminds her of the honeyed strawberry jelly on her toast. By the time she is ready, she has a plan set in mind and asks Amoret to take her to Blair. Inside, her nerves skitter about like trapped mice; outside, she breathes evenly and focuses on the décor they pass to avoid overthinking.</p><p>The familiar armless statues and floral-patterned windows and candelabras that look as old as her grandmother would be all imbue her with some comfort. Ironically, she can recall a time when the familiarity of it all was too easy to overlook and filled her with monotony when she did notice them. The excitement they initially brought slowly subsided so that by the end of her third year in the castle they were uninteresting and by the fifth year they irritated her on a bad day.</p><p>They walked downstairs, through the hall, into a connected, small, private room. Amoret knocks and slips in. Suddenly, there is yelling so clamorous Almira cannot make one thing out from another, then she recognizes Blair’s voice pierce through space, followed by an eerie quiet.  Amoret opens the door.</p><p>A large, long oak table sits at the center with many vampires sitting around it. Blair and Ascelin stand at either ends. A few vampires lounge on the couch along the wall. Everyone falls silent. About half of them peer at her hungrily like they want to pick her apart bit by bit as they slowly drain her life away; the other half, glare at her with disgust as though they would like nothing more than to watch her die slowly by poison or drive a dagger through her heart.</p><p>Almira has never felt so unsettled, like such a piece of meat, then not even meat. Less than an ant. Worthless except for blood. She wishes she could run away, and her eyes lock onto Lilitu and Blair. It’s a visceral reaction: her gut eases, her shoulders tense up a little less, her heart doesn’t knock so hard against her throat.</p><p>“I’m here to request a hearing with you,” she says. It comes out timid, to her dread. She’s lost her voice. It sticks against the walls of her throat as she tries to speak.</p><p>“You’ll have to wait,” Blair says. “I’m busy.”</p><p>“You’ll say that every time.”</p><p>Blair’s eyes narrow slightly. A warning. While the hungry vampires keep their lecherous gazes locked onto Almira, leeching out whatever ease she tries to find in the familiar sight of Blair and Lilitu, the others stare at Blair. It’s clear what they expect of him—and the threat that lays beneath should he fail. Those eyes that desire poison and daggers and death have turned onto the king.</p><p>“Later,” Blair says. “I won’t repeat myself. If you find it difficult to leave, Amoret is fit to <em>help</em>.”</p><p>Almira glares at Blair but leaves. She’ll give this day to him, but if he doesn’t give her some of his time, if he doesn’t work on his promises, then he can’t expect her to hold up her end. His need for her is her protection against those other vampires. His need for her will get her what she wants. One way or another. One day or another.</p><p> </p><p>Almira tells Amoret that she and her ladies will be going out. For a second, Amoret almost looks apprehensive, but the expression is gone as soon as it came, leaving Almira uncertain that it wasn’t imagined.</p><p>Seven humans leave the castle surrounded by twice as many vampires. But they don’t fight. Reida’s face is set into a scowl throughout the day they spend outside. Reuel is restless, shaking his leg and darting his from vampire to vampire, but he remains at Jedrik’s side. The brothers whisper the first two hours they spend walking around the grounds.</p><p>Almira, Xanthe, and the ladies pick various weeds and flowers. Estera and Damaris pick out the wild carrot. With a quick knowing look, Estera is able to communicate to Almira that it’s the one with flowers made up of small, purplish hairy drops that curl towards one another from the stem, looking more like a bird’s nest than a flowering plant, Damaris having pointed them out to her. With so many vampires around, she doesn’t point it out to anyone else. Damaris continues to collect what she can.</p><p>They move over to the massive garden. The hedges climb and trees tower. It’s as vibrant as ever, unaware of the war, safe from Almira’s nightmare.</p><p>The vampires form a loose line preventing them from going too deep. Xanthe is visibly angered. Reida opens her mouth only to be silenced by their queen with one look. Almira takes a step closer to the vampire line, peering past at those lovely hedges that she once sought refuge in. It feels like years ago. It was certainly a different lifetime. Her chest aches. The sorrow spreads into her limbs until she can feel it in her shoulders and even hands ache.</p><p>They explore what they can, picking flowers for bouquets. The sun warms them, steadily melting away Almira’s pain, leaving behind a dull, sore longing that lives beneath her skin.</p><p>When Almira sits down on one of the benches, Iriel approaches. They exchange a handful of flowers; Iriel offers cornflowers and Almira trades them with sweet peas. One time many months ago, Almira had commented on their vibrant blue color. It’s beyond doubt that Iriel would remember something so briefly mentioned. Almira brushes her knuckles against Iriel’s soft cheek. They continue walking about the front of the garden.</p><p>A few hours later, when the sun is at its highest, food and drink are brought out. Clothes are thrown over the stone tables. Alongside the servants, Reuel and Jedrik help to set up the lunch as the food is brought out dish by dish with the cutlery. They sit three at each table, Almira with Xanthe and Reida.</p><p>Quail with sides of fruits, candied nuts, glazed carrots, and roasted grapes. The women can’t help but marvel and murmur to one another. Reida’s arms stay crossed, her mouth curved down into a deep frown. As normal as this meal would have been just a short while ago, there has been no feast since the vampires took over. Almira recalls Blair’s stance on celebrating during and after the war. She calls Amoret over.</p><p>“Does this count as a feast or celebration of sorts to you?” she asks.</p><p>“No,” Amoret laughs. “This is hardly a satisfying dinner. You will know when you are at a feast or celebration. It’s much like yours, only better.”</p><p>Xanthe’s cutlery scrapes against each other, metal screeching against metal.</p><p>“Your celebrations focus on the feasts and sports,” Amoret explains. “Food is central to ours, too, but also the markets. All around it is expanded to games and rides and performances. Sports is just one kind of performance. Even the sovereign participates. It would be a slight to not.”</p><p>“What sort of performances would they give?”</p><p>“Anything displaying a talent,” Amoret shrugs. “Blair’s predecessor danced with fire.” Before Almira can ask, she says pointedly, “You will have to ask him.”</p><p>Lunch is delicious. The air is fresh and green, rich with an earthen, floral scent. The earthy takes Almira back to the heather fields. She misses the salt and fields of pink. She thinks of that horse ride under the moon the first night, of sand everywhere from between toes and fingers to the bed and bath, and of the bruises and touches and chills that linger under her skin. She focuses on the quail to stay rooted, different enough from the fish. Chasing after that illusion is too dangerous. It would be like offering a wounded version of herself up to Blair with open arms.</p><p> </p><p>As the sun begins to drop and the sky develops a pinkish glow, they go back inside. Under the pretense of creating bouquets for the castle, Estera places plentiful of the wild carrot into the vase going to Almira and Blair’s room. Seeds that Estera picked out are dropped with it into the vase. Once behind a locked door with only Jedrik for company, she eats. White roots smell like carrots, but luckily, the other flowers cover up the smell. The room smells of fresh flowers.</p><p>The seeds themselves taste of strong parsley, and when she bits down, they release a heavy oil. Estera emphasized chewing; the oil is what Estera needs. She chews through the unpleasant taste, swallowing, and washing it down with a glass of waste. It leaves behind a film-like substance from the oil. Almira downs the rest of the glass. The taste isn’t acrid and unbearable, but a little mint is tempting. She decides against it. He’s too observant.</p><p>For the rest of the day, Almira stays in the library with her ladies. It’s grown since she visited the room last. Vampire books lined the walls. Arts, philosophy, travel logs, fiction and folklore, and history. Almira gravitates towards history. Is it so different from her own? She wants to know, but the presence of Xanthe discourages her. What would that look like? Her queen already sits furthest from her. Instead, she picks up one of the thousands of books written by humans on the war with Mollikian vampires, silently noting to herself to return later and compare the two.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The moon has risen, illuminating the room. The flowers are cool, but half of Blair’s face soaks up the white-silvery tone, the other half cast in darkness and warm candlelight. His eyes glint against both lights, almost wild, two halves of a whole. He grabs Almira’s face, pulling it close to his. Stale breath ghosts over her face. She doesn’t blink, meeting his piercing gaze.</p><p>“You have my attention, Lolotte,” he murmurs, pulling her closer still until they stand flush against one another.</p><p>Almira is quick to take advantage. She exhales silently, molding to Blair. “We had a promise,” she says. Her hands brush against his arms, tracing rounded shapes.</p><p>“I am working on it,” he says, hands dropping to her neck. He stares.</p><p>Almira’s hands move to his. “Then, in the meantime, you should give me something in return for my good behavior.”</p><p>“Today was hardly good.”</p><p>“It was good.”</p><p>Blair smirks. “Your definition of good may cause problems in the future, Lolotte,” he says. “No matter how endearing and amusing, your boundless determination needs to know that it now has limits.”</p><p>“If you won’t let me participate in the town hall, you need something else to hold up your bargain.”</p><p>Blair’s hands drop to her elbows then her waist, slowly snaking around as he speaks, forcing her arms to be trapped between or scale. They scale, reaching up and latching onto his shoulders. They are lean and wide for someone who at first glance appears lanky.</p><p>“I have given you two strapping young men,” Blair teases. “Your townhall can wait another day of debating and convincing.”</p><p>“You’re right.” Her hands slip up to his neck, thumbs rubbing gentle circles. “A king is busy when he rules alone.”</p><p>Blair momentarily loses some of his amusement. The spark in his eyes turns into more of a glint, the smile more forced, the fangs bared. She pulls away from him. Blair grabs her wrists, a quick and surprisingly soft motion.</p><p><em>Perfect</em>, she thinks.</p><p>His hand grips her chin with equal care, utterly benign. Now just to <em>push</em>.</p><p>“You owe me,” she challenges.</p><p>“I gave you them.”</p><p>“What can they do? They’re farmers.”</p><p>Blair’s eyes roam over Almira’s face, searching, studying. They move back and forth as though uncertain which eye will reveal the truth, will reveal the mirror to her soul. His grip on her chin tightens. His second warning of the day.</p><p>“They will train,” he says. “They may learn the basics of the human way.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>It catches him off guard, just as she hoped it would. He drops his hand and leans back, out of her immediate space.</p><p>“You’re welcome.”</p><p>As he says so, Almira moves to him, running her hands over his torso, searching for an opening. He snags her hand.</p><p>“I’m tired and busy,” he says. “Dinner will be brought for you and the other one—”</p><p>“Jedrik.”</p><p>“Yes, him.” Blair checks his reflection in the mirror, smoothing down his silky dark hair, and marches to the door. “You should know training keeps many busy, if he is really dedicated.”</p><p><em>Then it’s a good thing I would rather see him train than be with me</em>, she thinks proudly.</p><p>When Blair is gone and replaced by Jedrik, Almira grins from ear to ear. Her glee bursts out from her core, spreading through her limbs until she grows restless and dances a little.</p><p>“It worked?” Jedrik murmurs in awe.</p><p>“You can train,” she nods, taking his hands in hers and squeezing them. “You can teach me, Reuel can teach the others. You may teach them, too, when you aren’t with me. It’s a step forward. Soon enough, so long as he believes it’s the right thing, I will help make decisions bit by bit.”</p><p>Jedrik looks as though he could kiss her. Even as she is tempted to lean forward, rationality kicks in. He thinks of her as queen. Professional, cool, a source of hope. She can’t ruin that image. She shouldn’t. She can’t.</p><p>He kisses her knuckles, one hand then the other, and adrenaline rushes through Almira. It erases what little rationality wasn’t taken over by euphoria. She takes his face and kisses him on the mouth.</p><p>First, surprise. Jedrik almost pulls back, but just when she lets go to apologize, he kisses back. He’ll be busy training soon enough. One kiss won’t hurt.</p><p>They are alone. Alone in the room. Alone amongst vampires. Separate from and unlike the others. Jedrik is no Reuel, Almira is no Xanthe, but they are here. Almira gives Jedrik hope and Jedrik, Almira. They trust each other as two people can with their lives and others’ on the line. It is a thin line, and they most definitely cross it. Again and again, until that loneliness is buried deep beneath to be cast out until it claws its way back up. For a while, Almira thinks she can find something like her old life. Sea salt and heather be damned.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Caged and Pensive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for the 300ish reads ❤ If you're enjoying it, feel free to hit the Kudos button ;) </p><p>For anyone who read chapter 16 earlier, I'm sorry for posting out of order! I've fixed the order so it should make more sense now. You get two chapters this week lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Fifteen: Caged and Pensive</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“You need to take this every day,” Almira recalls the words passed from Damaris to Estera to her. “It’s impertinent that you take them for seven days after unprotected sex when you’re fertile to prevent impregnation. She doesn’t know about what could happen if it’s taken every day for a long period of time, though. I know you are working as fast as you can, but this could put your own health at risk, Almira. What would we do with a dead queen, then? What would I do without you, the only other <em>sane</em> one?”</p><p>With Jedrik dozing in the chair as though nothing had changed, she wonders absentmindedly if having more sex makes a difference. At least Jedrik wouldn’t be opposed to the employing the other suggestion of acacia gum. If only she could sneak into the village and get that little device Damaris was talking about.</p><p>But alas. She’ll have to rely on the wild carrot seed.</p><p> </p><p>The door opens. Even with his fine clothing, Blair looks haggard. His face twists abruptly. He pauses. Almira sleeps soundly on the bed, but a smell, simultaneously sweet and acrid, floats through the air. The door swings back into place and clicks. Almira, washed and dressed in her silky nightgown, lies still under the heavy covers.</p><p>Feet step lightly across the carpet, audible only because it’s the only sound in the room and his fatigue makes his footfalls heavier, and the bed dips slightly as he leans over it, one hand pressing down for support. He draws in a sharp breath, and the smell of sex is undeniable.  </p><p>Blair moves away from the bed abruptly. He goes to the bathroom to splash cold water over his face. He stalks silently through the bedroom, the sound of his footsteps gone. After changing from a formal blouse with high shoulders to loose linen, he grips the top blanket, a fur-lined one, and yanks it from the bed.</p><p>The door slams shut, waking Jedrik and making Almira stir. Jedrik looks around, groggy and confused yet alarmed. There is no change that Jedrik can tell of in his still-new environment. With a sniffle, he settles back into a light sleep.</p><p>The moon grows dimmer, and the sky lightens, sweeping through the darkest shades of blue to medium blues. When the golden haze returns to the horizon, Almira wakes. Still half-alseep, she holds them under the cool water for several minutes until she’s shivering. She focuses on the cold morning air, the cool water. She doesn’t leave the bathroom for a long time.</p><p>Not even when she hears the bedroom door open, and a familiar voice tells Jedrik to step out.</p><p>“Her Maj—”</p><p>“Leave. You are not privy to private matters.”</p><p><em>Private matters. </em>Almira is not sure she wants to find out, and yet, there is a sick, anxious curiousness that claws at her. Her legs shake. Fists form in the basin, exaggerated in size by the cold liquid. She presses down against the basin, trying to shift her weight.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t cower. He can’t control you.</em>
</p><p>The bathroom door eases open. His gaze burns with acrimony. She meets his accusation with apathy. He won’t hurt her. He won’t. As he stands there, unmoving, she realizes another thing: he <em>can’t</em>. He has always pushed her a little, but he never hurts her.</p><p>“His training begins today,” Blair says.</p><p>Almira stares at him quizzically before it clicks that he is talking about Jedrik. She cannot help but smile. It’s a mistake, though; Blair scowls and sneers.</p><p>“I suspect it will occur in the evening. We wouldn’t want him running into my soldiers,” he says. “As for you, you will be as busy as I am for much of the day.”</p><p>She doesn’t see the drawback to this, yet. Finally, it feels like progress. But she needs to know one more thing.</p><p>“What will I be busy with?” she asks.</p><p>“You will stay in the hall when I am there,” he says. “When I am not, you are allowed in the library and garden.”</p><p>Yes, Almira likes this. This will give her what she needs. Even if it proves to be more restrictive. She can’t expect things to get easier as they progress step by step. No, the steps will grow taller and steeper until she has no choice but to jump or climb.</p><p>Blair frames himself against her, forcing her up against the sink and cabinet. She lets him. She knows what he wants, what he needs. It shows in his gaunt face and darkness around his eyes, in his slowed movements.</p><p> He sinks his fangs into her, holding one side of her face and grasping one of her hands. He feeds. And feeds. It’s the longest one so far. The usual dull throb sharpens into a piercing pain suddenly and she squeezes his hand, wincing. He loosens from her without letting go, still drinking. The pain subsides, but she soon finds that she has to lean against him even as he leans against her.</p><p>“Blair,” she says, growing lightheaded. <em>Please. </em>She grips his sleeves for support, for an anchor, as he lets her go. He shakes against her but with one swipe of his tongue, she knows he is in more control of himself than she is of herself. The fear returns. Blair rubs his knuckles against her cheek as her body stops swaying on its own time.</p><p>“I may need you, Lolotte,” he whispers lowly, “but never forget this feeling. It could kill you.” He presses his cheek against hers. “It could turn you.”</p><p>Almira presses against him even as she clings to him, shaking her head. <em>He won’t hurt you. He can’t. It would backfire. Even if he tried, he wouldn’t follow through. He cares for appearance above all else.</em></p><p>“Today, my dear,” he continues, “you <em>will</em> behave. You will be <em>my</em> version of good, or you will be kept from the hall. You want to be at those town halls, don’t you? You dream of helping your people. If you want to do more than stand there by my side as you will today, then today you will do just that—stand there like the figurehead you have become. You will have to prove yourself to more than just me, Lolotte, and the others are much less likely to forgive your outburst yesterday. Do you understand?”</p><p>With her sense returned, Almira pushes Blair away. He inches back, keeping hold on her arms.</p><p>“Yes, I understand,” she resigns. One day. She can make it through one day.</p><p>“Shall we go over the rules?”</p><p>“I know how to behave,” she snaps.</p><p>His eyebrow quirks up.</p><p>“I speak only when spoken to,” she says. “When I cannot feign a smile, I remain impassive. You are talking to a queen. I know what to do. Do not patronize me.”</p><p>Blair face is hard as the marble statues that line the halls of the castle. His lips and teeth are red with blood. She shoves the ache for the beach that rises to the deepest recesses of her mind. The ache remains still, aggravating Almira. She shoves past Blair, leaving the bathroom.</p><p>
  <em>Focus. It was a falsity. A distraction. Meant to coax, trap, and enslave.</em>
</p><p>Blair slides into the closet as she reaches for clothes, choosing blindly. He picks a dress and holds it out. It’s velvet and green-black and slim. So dark that you can only see the green when light shines against it.</p><p>“I won’t,” she says.</p><p>“It’s your first test,” he challenges calmly.</p><p>Almira grinds her teeth, snatching the dress from him. He leaves the closet to her relief, and she changes. There is nowhere to hide her envelope opener, so she hides it amongst one of her clean skirts so that none of the servants will discover it.</p><p>Breakfast of quail eggs and fruit and jam sits on the table when she steps out. Jedrik stands by the door. Dread and something else, something heavy and tender, settles in her stomach, evaporating whatever appetite she had a moment ago. She sits in front of the table under Blair’s watchful eye. He stands behind the chair across from her, long fingers propped up like two halves of a tent against the back.</p><p>“I believe <em>her majesty</em> has something to tell you,” he says without lifting his gaze from Almira.</p><p>Almira doesn’t look at Blair. She can’t bring herself to look at Jedrik. What will he think? Does it matter? He will get what he wants, too.</p><p>“Your training starts today,” Almira tells him, forcing herself to look into his warm brown eyes. So soft and open it stings. “You will train during the evenings and perhaps into the night, depending on the vampires.”</p><p>Blair slips around to the back of Almira’s chair. Jedrik steels himself, and Almira knows Blair’s eyes have locked onto him. You crumble or you trick yourself in a mockery of confidence when he decides to acknowledge you. Almira is glad to see the latter in Jedrik.</p><p>“She hasn’t given you the best news,” Blair says. “You will both sit in on the town halls. Shame you can’t participate, though. Earning things amongst vampires must be an unusual and tedious, demeaning process for you humans.”</p><p>Jedrik suddenly pales and shrinks into himself, and Almira whirls around. Blair is grinning, fangs and unwashed blood and all. The grin only grows.</p><p>“You may leave us,” Blair tells him. “Stand guard, little sentry.”</p><p>Jedrik almost stumbles out of the room.</p><p>“What a sensitive guardian angel you have,” the vampire murmurs as he goes over to his mint box. The vase of peace lilies, snapdragons, baby’s breath and wild carrot sits beside it. His sword beside them, glinting against the candlelight. Blair inspects the new decoration with feather light brushes of his fingertips on their petals.</p><p>Heart in her throat, Almira dives into breakfast. Appetite or not, that is the last thing she wants to give away. His threat about raising a child to achieve whatever purpose Almira won’t echoes in her mind. It is the one threat that truly shakes her to the core and freezes her blood. She cannot give him the chance.</p><p>“They go well together,” Blair says, as though he’s familiar with the art of flower arrangement.</p><p>Almira freezes, the cup of tea part way to her lips. Her shock keeps her from instantly capitalizing on the distraction.</p><p>“You have made bouquets before?” she asks dubiously, using both hands to hold the cup in case her hands tremble.</p><p>“There are many things a leader needs to know to ensure even the smallest of details are orderly,” he murmurs, moving onto the mint. “There are some cultures that place high value on aesthetics such as that. If you want to impress, you need to know.”</p><p>“But. . . that is a very <em>human</em> aesthetic.”</p><p>Blair walks over. “Yes, it is.” He gently takes the cup of tea from her hand and napkin from her lap, dipping the latter into the former to wash away the blood around his mouth.</p><p>“Well?” she asks, watching as he sits across from her. The early morning sun lights up half of his face, softening the hard angles of his face by erasing all shadows. His eye on that side of his face lights up as the pupil constricts, and once more, his face is split. Uneven down to the pupils.</p><p>“I recommend you find time to explore the vampire sections of the library,” he replies quietly. “You may find them amusing or enraging or enlightening. Whatever your reaction, you’ll find the answer somewhere in there.”</p><p>“I can’t read the whole section—it will only grow! If I go tonight, there will be even more books than there are right now.”</p><p>“Can’t you?” he asks. “Have you not extensively read your own books?”</p><p>“That took years, and I barely scratched the surface.”</p><p>Blair smirks. “Then it’s a good thing there won’t be any more warring to distract you.” It’s more teasing than taunting, but Almira doesn’t dignify it with a response. She shudders at the idea of this situation being her reality for the rest of her life.</p><p>Her appetite has returned anyways, providing her with a good excuse to distract from the idea and not reply to him.</p><p>“Are you ready for today?” he asks. His tone and demeanor are nonchalant, but Almira knows better than to take his masks for their surface meanings. He is both honest and deceptive, and she is still learning to differentiate between the two; she imagines it could take two lifetimes to perfect the art, but perhaps that is the point.</p><p>“You’re asking a trick question,” she says. “I will do whatever I must.”</p><p>“Very well.” He suddenly gives off an air of disinterest. But the disinterest is too much, too sudden, too strong to be genuine. “I’ll be interested in seeing how long you can stand being silent.”</p><p>“I can behave, but you’re not seriously asking me to not talk at all?” she asks, incredulous.</p><p>Blair’s pale, almost translucent skin is like the night moon carved into a cold statue, even as the sun begins its climb and baths the city in its early warmth.</p><p> “You may talk when spoken to,” he says coolly, looking away from her dismissively. Even for him, Blair is being unusually mercurial. “But don’t be surprised if I don’t.”</p><p>“You’re behaving a like a petty child,” she mutters before she can catch herself. “If you let me help, you will have peace. If you let me help, you will be the first sovereign to unite vampires and humans.”</p><p>Blair freezes, hardening like snow turning to ice with a snap of fingers. His gaze is unfocused, his face turned towards the interior of the room so that the only warmth cast on him falls over his shoulder and arm. His fingers curl around the chair arm, neither squeezing nor relaxed. Simultaneously, everything about him screams <em>caged</em> and <em>pensive</em>.</p><p>Almira sits as tall as her back will allow her. She doesn’t move otherwise, afraid to set him off. The familiar thump against her neck returns, a small heartbeat living in his bite.</p><p>Blair goes to the dresser and straps his sword on as he continues, “Today you will speak only when spoken to. If you fail even once, you will be sent out. I do not care what the scene will look like. I do not care, they cannot hate me more than they already do. If it makes me petty, then so be it, but I wonder who is pettier: the ones who hate another for things unchangeable, or the ones who hate another for things changeable?” He goes to the door before she can respond and when she does open her mouth, he says, “I expect you to be on your way in five minutes. You will enter as a courtesan and not a queen.”</p><p>The door shuts, leaving Almira alone until Jedrik slips back in after a minute.</p><p><em>It could have been worse</em>, Almira thinks, but what she really wants to know is how long the ‘speak only when spoken to’ rule will last. And if he will speak to her at all, or if he will force her to stew and boil until she can contain it no longer and bursts open. If that is his intent, she most definitely cannot cave. And yet, if he wants her to stew, she has to do something.</p><p>Almira leaves the last bits of food to walk through the castle with Jedrik and Amoret.</p><p> </p><p>The hall is as undead as its inhabitants. People stand about, vampires are spaced out, largely along the wall and at every opening to stand guard. The first one she recognizes is not Blair but the one with long, fair hair: Ascelin. She glares fiercely at him. Almira cannot think of a being she loathes more. He is a living, breathing reminder of when Blair had the audacity to lick her hand as though it was some power move on his part. Wouldn’t the vampires love that. A submissive, human Feeder. They are not so different from the lowly human men they so fondly scorn.</p><p>Strangely, Blair is nowhere to be seen. Lilitu, though, stands in all her glorious, vampiric poise on the opposite side of the thrones as Ascelin.</p><p>A line files in of humans in various states of disarray and stress, some gaunt from malnutrition and others strong from manual labor. Almira cannot look long at them. Not the vampires, but them—<em>they</em> are who make her afraid to step out into the hall.</p><p>Then, Blair comes from the other throne room. He exchanges a whisper of words with Lilitu and Ascelin before going to the king’s throne. Almira wrings her hands watching him move so elegantly. Him existing in this space is a desecration to all that the hall means for those in line. And yet, and yet. He moves lithe as a legendary warrior and more graceful than any nobleman she has ever known. His mannerisms make him more than worthy. And yet.</p><p>“It’s time,” Amoret murmurs. “Don’t forget where you’re meant to go, or we’ll have to escort you out.”</p><p>Almira nods. She steps out of the opposite throne room and into the hall. Just as they did for Blair, all eyes turn to her. Unlike for Blair, the line of people grow restless. The vampires shift in warning, and Almira is careful with her movements. She’s not here to incite insurrection. . . Well, not yet at least. She walks up to the throne seats. Blair eyes her. For a second, the hall hangs in suspended silence.</p><p>She steps past the queen’s throne and around Blair to stand beside him on the opposite side. He visibly relaxes. The people waiting look suddenly uncertain. The vampire guards remain posed and ready.</p><p>Blair leans over the arm rest. “Call them over,” he whispers.</p><p>It is a small token that Ascelin frowns at the words, uttered as a firm request rather than the demand of a king to his subject, but it does not make up for having to stand like the courtesan he has publicly branded her as. Almira’s blood roars in her ears, that little heartbeat in her neck returned. Blair glances up at her with a strange look of sincerity that inspires a calm within her. Finding it somewhat disconcerting given the legends surrounding vampiric mindreading and compulsion—the one vampire legend she avoids thinking about at all costs—Almira avoids his gaze and stares at the first human to approach the thrones.</p><p>“You may approach,” Almira says, her voice carrying through the hall. As it carries through the air, filling the hall, it loses what shakiness it first has. Words, balled up like little fists of the angry woman she has become, anger that shakes with fear of what could happen if she fails. It lifts her voice, pulling it forward through the hall, to the line of waiting humans. It falls over them.</p><p>They grow both relieved and anxious and huddle together closer in the line, imbued with enough royal strength to shoot glares at nearby vampires. But they stay in line even as they swell with reassurance. She is still their queen.</p><p>Coming from all over, it’s possible they had not heard of the insurrection involving their queen, but news spreads with trade and the country folk will be forced to rely more heavily on one another as the capital and nearby areas grow heavy with vampires. At some point they will know, if they don’t yet, and then who can say what will happen have been small insurrections here and there. Or perhaps, they are so desperate that it doesn’t matter. At the very least, she knows she can count on those from the capital being that last to lose faith in her, many having rooted themselves here for generations.</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Denial, A Vampire’s Senses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapters were originally posted out of order on accident, so if you've read this chapter already, please check that you've read Fifteen: Caged and Pensive as well. I fixed the order when I posted Ch. 15, so you can find it as the chapter before this one now.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Sixteen: Denial, A Vampire’s Senses </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>As with most in the line, the first to step up is a young man or boy. Not the oldest sibling but still one strong enough to make a journey to the capital for a family. He asks for a little money and nothing else. He stares at Blair with such hatred and fear his body trembles. The second asks for some bread to survive the week. When he thanks Blair sarcastically, the king doesn’t react. Ascelin bares his teeth and the man scampers off like a frightened bunny. The third, a pair of siblings, come for a loan to rebuild the family home that was destroyed by the war.</p><p>There are too many tales of having lost so much in fires and thieving of pillaging. Thieving from other desperate humans, too. A blend of stories of people turning against one another or banding together; either way, they are all tales of survival and resilience. The vitality in Almira slowly bleeds out. It is slow and painful and there is no growing used to it hearing it from their own mouths. After the first hour, it becomes clear that most have come because of the war.</p><p>Blair gives them all what they come for, and some walk away with more. He approves of the loans and compensations, or he sends them off with bread and directions to a pantry. This, Almira cannot help but be surprised about. He is, after all, the very one to put them in these situations and not once does he smile, nor does his mask of impassivity drop. They are his subjects, perhaps less than but no more than. </p><p>After the second hour, the humans are sent away. For a moment, Almira fears a break in their patience. In the blink of an eye, two guards abruptly slam close the hall doors, cutting off the line before Almira can call the next one forward. Outside, grumbling and disappointed exclamations erupt immediately. Some of the humans swear at the vampires announcing that their time for town hall has come to an end. They’re told to return tomorrow. One insult rings above all else: <em>blood suckers</em>. A vulgar term to vampires, but the guards, as over-trained as Spartans and locked safely behind the massive wood and iron door or standing up on top of the castle from a vantage point, do not react, thankfully, and the humans have no choice but to disperse.</p><p>A long line of vampires forms quickly over the following half of an hour. In the meantime, Blair and Ascelin disappear back into the room behind the thrones without so much as a look towards Almira. Almira is taken back to her private throne room with Jedrik and Amoret, where she snacks, so tired from hearing one disaster story after another and not being able to do or say anything that she’s left wired. The food and black tea do little. Her feet ache. Her energy has waned.</p><p>Jedrik is unusually quiet, lost in his thoughts. Not interested in carrying the conversation, Almira doesn’t bother trying to talk with Amoret. For a while, she does little more than pick at and nibble her food. The cup of tea is less than half drunk by the time there is a knock on the door to summon Almira back to Blair’s side.</p><p>The vampires come for very different reasons, and much of the time, the requests make Almira’s blood boil. Many are benign, like approval of weddings and engagements. But others ask for loans to buy out (human) property, or for a suspicious license to be approved of, or they bring up accusations against a specific human. A few go as far as to demand an execution. During these requests, she has to bite her tongue and chew on her cheek to keep from snapping. It doesn’t take long for her to taste the metallic of her own blood. She knows it's only a matter of time before she explodes and makes her opinions known, if her grimaces and glares are nothing to go by. </p><p>Though Blair lacks interest in executions to Almira’s relief, by the end of the second hour, her anger and hatred weigh down so heavily that she is as exhausted as though she hadn't slept for a week. Each time, she cannot help the fear and anxiety that spikes before Blair negotiates until they are convinced almost by themselves of another option. Much of the time, it comes down to money. For now, they have enough respect for money and for him to remain complacent, but time is a greedy, corrosive bastard.</p><p> </p><p>The vampires slip away from the hall as quietly and quickly as they came when their time is up. Blair stands, and Almira steps up to him so that he has no choice but to acknowledge her. He meets her gaze. And then, he steps past her.</p><p>“You can’t ignore me,” Almira says, her voice cracking from lack of use for hours.</p><p>Blair steps down from the thrones. Ascelin walks up to him, watching Blair closely.</p><p>“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” he says. “I will see you later tonight. Go to the room.”</p><p>Almira glares at him, the anger from the townhall burning off her sluggishness and lighting a vindictive fire within. “Fine,” she sneers.</p><p>Blair pauses before walking away with Ascelin. She could see how he tensed. He can’t do anything, though. She didn’t <em>really</em> step out of bounds. Not for a few more minutes, anyways.</p><p>Almira marches back with Amoret and Jedrick, slamming the door as soon as Jedrik pops in. She grabs at him, kissing him and walking them away from the door. His hands roam and tug, hers clinging and directing. He erases and soothes, distracts and hurts. For now, she does not care that he doesn’t always listen when she warns him about not leaving bruises, her skin a medium tan but not warm and tough like his.</p><p>Immediately after, Jedrik goes to the bathroom. After hearing a few mere splashes from the water basin, Almira gets up. As clear blue as the sky is, uninterrupted by the wings of either dragon or griffin, as warm as the sun would feel on her bare skin, Almira keeps the curtains tightly closed. She runs the bath, but he refuses.</p><p>“It’ll be suspicious if we both take a bath,” he points out. “At least you can say you were tired after.”</p><p>After he leaves, Almira shuts the door and opens the curtains, letting the sun wash over the room. Its soothing warmth blends with the stuffy heat and fog from the bath. It’s not until she’s almost done that she recalls the herbs and oils for the bath. With a sigh, Almira gets out and settles with rubbing some over her pruned skin. Somehow, it’s not nearly as satisfying. There is still a lingering ache.</p><p>Wanting to leave the room and scorn Blair’s orders once more, Almira decides to go to the library. It is another escape. One filled with different worlds and different creatures. No humans or vampires or war or royalty. She’s come down from the high of spite and rancor and fear. She doesn’t need to suffocate underneath another body anymore. She doesn’t want to scream anymore. She wants to go far, far away, but after the first book, she is back in the library. The day has already grown dark and the air cold, and it’s shocking. It’s a sharp, starless navy ending.</p><p>When it catches up all over again and Almira has to speed walk back to the room as an overwhelming sense of dread and emotions threaten to spill over, when she breaks down and cries all over again, she goes to where Jedrik has gone to sit, unaware and in his own world. He holds and comforts. He does not lie and promise, nor does he guilt and question. He says nothing at all, not with his mouth or body. His hand runs down her hair again and again and again. He is there, just as she needs him, even if it is not him. Even if she has become another side of a coined identity; even if she now is the one being used. He is a rock, but the ground can grow wet and unstable during a heavy rain. A rock will go where the elements take it, even if that means eroding it to dust.</p><p>And soon, he is gone, taken away by Amoret. Lilitu stands in the doorway, staring.</p><p>“What?” Almira croaks.</p><p>Lilitu doesn’t respond, and Almira snorts. A servant brings in dinner: black chicken in soup, saffron rice, and rich berries. When he’s gone, never looking up from the floor, mumbling only to greet Almira as queen, Lilitu stalks over like a big lizard in her scaly, black uniform looking to pin down its prey.</p><p>“Do you think you are smart?” she demands.</p><p>Almira picks up the rice, determined to ignore Lilitu.</p><p>“You will threaten everything,” the vampire snarls. She does not tremble like Almira so often finds herself doing, the vampire's voice as strong and sure as straightstitched nylon. “Including whatever it is that you actually want. If it’s Jedrik, he’ll be torn apart. Do you even care—”</p><p>Almira slams the rice back down on the table. She’s shaking all over, and she hates it. She can't stop, control slipping away. “Get out,” she says.</p><p>“Do you understand nothing about vampires? Does a single human know anything about us, or is everything you think you know made up stereotypes?” Lilitu says. Her words claw through Almira, her dark eyes burn like the edge of an iron stick laid in a fire. “Read a fucking book. You spend enough time amongst books.”</p><p>“Do you have anything useful to tell me?” </p><p>“Vampires are largely very exclusive. Blair may be king, but he’s about as typical of a vampire as you can come by,” she snaps and steps up to Almira. Her angled features are sharpened by the lighting and her very short hair. It has grown a little, curls starting to form. They're slick under the candles, glinting down at Almira as much as her eyes are. Her limbs are lean and lithe beneath her uniform, rippling muscle where even Blair lacks. “You’re not going to threaten what I have worked for.”</p><p>“Blair has not done or said anything.”</p><p>“Did he not separate you two at night?”</p><p>“I’m not his, and I’m not Jedrik’s." Almira's jaw clenches, her teeth grinding audibly. "Blair spends most of his time away. I’ve found another toy. What do you want? Me to be loyal to a man I hate? We cannot all have your fairytale ending. We humans gave ours up last month, don't expect us to make it easy for you to--”</p><p>Suddenly, Lilitu’s hand grasps Almira’s neck, her fingers constricting. Almira grabs her wrists, digging in her nails.</p><p>“Let go of me,” Almira says. “Or you could lose your station.”</p><p>“You have much more to worry about,” Lilitu sneers, pressing down so that Almira has to lean back, “and I never go down alone.”</p><p>“You’re right, you’ll be taking Amoret with you.” </p><p>“And you’ll be taking your entire human kingdom, Aberdaron’s queen, or have you forgotten?”</p><p>Almira shoves against Lilitu, and the vampire lets her go. She steps back, feet planting, poised for an attack as Almira stands. Lilitu towers like a seething dragon standing on its hind legs.</p><p>“Get out,” Almira says. “I want to eat in peace.” </p><p>“Your acting outside of this room does not paint over what happens in here—”</p><p>“Get out! Now!” Almira shouts, blinded from seeing the enraged dragon pacing within Lilitu. “You vampires, you tout and preach sexual freedom, and what are you doing right now? Do you think I care what you think, Lilitu? Do you really think I care what happens to you? I do not live for you or for Blair. I do what I have to do to survive.”</p><p>Lilitu bares her teeth in that familiar vampiric habit Almira has grown so accustomed to it is losing its “scare factor.” She glares up at Lilitu.</p><p>“If you want your fairytale ending, then if anything, you’ll help me hide this,” Almira says.</p><p>“As if Blair doesn’t already know,” Lilitu snorts. “It <em>stinks</em> in here.” </p><p>Almira pales. <em>A vampire’s senses. </em></p><p>To avoid thinking about it was to do more than ignore it; she was able to pretend it isn't true, but it was also trickery. A lie, more illusions. Lilitu has yanked those blinds down, ripped them entirely off their pole above the window. She's smacked Almira's most recent pair of rose-tinted lenses off. </p><p>“It’s not as though he ever comes around,” Almira snaps, a desperate, cornered mouse before the dragon, pouring out excuses as her blood pumping loudly in her ears.</p><p>“Is that what you think? Well, he’ll be here soon enough anyway.”</p><p>Almira doesn’t respond. Her throat is as dry as a husk. </p><p>“I want to help you,” Lilitu says. “I told you before: a peaceful kingdom will get me what I want. You and Blair <em>will</em> give me that. I did not just help a king become an emperor for that to be taken away because his courtesan sleeps with a man who tried to kill him.”</p><p><em>I am not a courtesan</em>, Almira thinks. </p><p><em>But neither are you Queen</em>, a part of her says.</p><p>Finally, thankfully, there is a knock at the door. Almira is not sure how—if—she could force Lilitu to leave. Blair walks in, eye shifting between the women.</p><p>“Your shift is off, and you spend it here, Lilitu?” he asks, calm and knowing, reading the room all too well.</p><p>Lilitu leaves, huffy and righteous in her wrath, slamming the door. Even knowing that it was coming, Almira jumps. After taking off his sword, Blair goes to the wardrobe. Awkwardly, Almira sits. Absently, her fingers and hands rub against and squeeze each other to keep from shaking. </p><p><em>Can he smell it?</em> she can’t help but think, even as she fights thinking about it. <em>Food—focus on dinner. Dinner.</em></p><p>He comes out dressed only in dark silk pants and kimono, and Almira feels her heart almost choke her. She bites into the black chicken. It’s warm and juicy and delicious and distracts for long enough to let Blair silently walk over without notice.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck. </em>
</p><p>Almira wipes her mouth and moves back to the rice. Less messy. He sits across from her, holding a book that seems to have appeared out of thin air.</p><p><em>Does he know?</em> It’s a visceral need to know and yet a fearful thing to dare to acknowledge with spoken words. </p><p>They sit quietly like that for a short while as Almira struggles to force herself to focus on her dinner, overly aware of Blair even as she falls into the quicksand of her thoughts. Certainly, the last feeding hinted at him knowing, but she willingly ignored it, telling herself it was about both Jedrik and Reuel--and believing it. If she is honest, she never expected anything with Jedrik to last. It had been a quick escape, but Reality was never far, dressed in black silk and allure. It sits across from her, always returning to take her to heaven one moment and pull her back down to earth the next and more often than not, try to hand her a shovel for her to dig herself down into the earth. </p><p>“You did well,” he says suddenly.</p><p>“What? Oh, thank you.”</p><p>“You hated it, I imagine.”</p><p>Almira makes a noncommittal sound.</p><p>“I have a feeling tomorrow will be worse,” he murmurs. “Now that the word will spread that you will be there, things will become more extreme.”</p><p>Almira sits back, away from the food. He lounges in the chair, like it was made specifically for him and not the late king and actual queen, a long, bony finger stuck in the middle of his book. Her appetite has grown and yet she could care less about the luxury food before her.</p><p>“Are you hungry?” she asks.</p><p>Surprise flashes like a bright, white bolt of lightning across his face. Then, it’s gone and he’s back to his book. “You haven’t finished your food,” he says.</p><p>Almira stares at the half-eaten food. She’s already full, it was enough to feed two or three more people. The black skin of the chicken gleams in the spiced soup, the sprinkle of saffron a bright red on the porcelain plate edge.</p><p>“It’s a lot,” she admits.</p><p>His gaze falls lazily over the food for a moment before he turns back to his book. “Seems so,” he agrees. “If you tell Amoret, it should be better the next time.”</p><p>“What are you reading?” The cover is plain, the book appearing as uninteresting as they come.</p><p>“<em>Satin Cranes</em>,” he says, detached from talking to her; he thinks she won’t care or understand. “It’s a vampire story.”</p><p>She can’t stand this version of Blair. It’s <em>too</em> closed off. It’s not mysterious, there are no hints; it’s frustrating, irksome, and distressing. Something grows within Almira from the seed of frustration and consternation that Lilitu planted. She stands up and goes to the wardrobe to change into pajamas. After, she checks the placement of her letter opener, feeling the slim metal through the fabric.</p><p>Almira jumps when something brushes past her. Blair stands inches away.</p><p>“Fucking vampires,” she mutters under her breath with a nervous laugh and glance back at him. </p><p>His light eyes drag to her and pierce into her, and her false smile falters. She moves away from her side of the wardrobe and tries to leave when he goes up to the skirt. She freezes--say something, distract, or walk away? She chooses to walk away too late, though, and her ploy is given away.</p><p>Blair’s face hardens into its familiar, beautiful marble. He reaches over to the skirt, patting it down. Almira knows anything she says now will just incriminate her all the more, and yet, she cannot just stay still and quiet. She has to do <em>something</em>.</p><p>She goes up to him and gently lays her hand on his arm, guiding it along the very fabrics she cut and pinned and sewed together. Her own creation betrays her as his hand reaches where the knife-like object lays between layers. Not once does Blair look away from her. He steps back from the skirt, and his eyes say it all: You fetch it. She might as well be a deadly viper to him, or little stout infamous for surplus killing that has turned its sight on him. </p><p>Almira digs into the skirt and pulls out the letter opener. She holds it out. Blair grabs her wrist and yanks her to him, holding the opener between their faces.</p><p>“I’m growing more than weary of the impudence, Lolotte,” he whispers. “Just because I let you walk doesn’t mean you can run.”</p><p>“Let go,” she whispers, but it sounds like she doesn’t even mean it. She can’t believe she would sound like that; she can’t believe she would say that; she can hardly understand how she is still alive and sane in moments like these.</p><p>“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he says impassively. </p><p>She can’t read him at all, and it’s terrifying. It’s the kind of terror that creeps up from behind and holds you over the edge; it can’t be stopped from coming or inflicting lasting horrors.</p><p>But then, he does let go. He steps back, looking from the opener to her, daring her. Running is pointless, but to fight him? </p><p>“Do you think I’m stupid?” she retorts. “This is for self-defense. I don’t even want to know what would happen to me if I tried to attack you.”</p><p>“You say that now.”</p><p>“Just let me keep this,” she says. “Let me carry it around. You have a sword and two daggers.”</p><p>“I don’t sleep with them.”</p><p>“They’re not for you!” Almira blurts out, shocking even herself. </p><p>Blair’s mask of impassivity slips down, bewilderment and stupefaction surfacing, even as he continues to stand between Almira and the wardrobe exit.</p><p>“Just let me keep it,” she breathes.</p><p>Blair turns and leaves. Almira stares at his back and shoulders, nonplussed. She looks down at the opener, her own reflection looking back at her, and slips it into another skirt’s layers.</p><p>“Why?” she asks once out of the closet.</p><p>“You’re very resourceful, Lolotte,” he murmurs, plopping back down into his chair. His hair pools against the back of it, blending into his kimono. </p><p>“You think I’d manage to find another somehow. At least you know about this.”</p><p>He nods, body relaxed but eyes sharp.</p><p>“Then what’s to stop me from getting another?”</p><p>“It’s hard to hide the more you have, and now that I know about this one, I’ll keep an eye out for others.” </p><p>Almira goes to the chest at the bottom of the bed and pulls out a shawl so large it could be a blanket to wrap around herself.  </p><p>“I don’t necessarily need more.”</p><p>“You’re not quick enough to take something from me.”</p><p>“Maybe so, but you said I’m resourceful,” she says pointedly, sitting. The smell of the food wafts through the air, filling it with a sweet, husky saffron and distinctly <em>chicken</em> scent.</p><p>“I don’t believe I’ll enjoy this game, but I’ll indulge. What would you use?” He sounds bored, rather than alarmed, and she tries not to let it sting.</p><p>Almira looks around. It’s oddly comforting to think about this. It’s oddly, cruelly satisfying to tell it to Blair. What would she use to try to kill him?</p><p>“There are the candles, so wax and candelabras,” she says. “And the vase over there. Silk is quite strong, perhaps I could use that, too.”</p><p>Blair grunts, a slight grimace making it look like he has a pinched nerve. “The only thing that makes this minimally less disturbing is that you do not seem to have given it thought before,” he grumbles, “but then again, maybe you waited until you could tell me.”</p><p>Almira shrugs. “Maybe part of being resourceful is also practicality,” she says. “I don’t let myself run wild with fantasies anymore.”</p><p>Blair’s expression shifts subtly. His brow softens so that his expression is less of a scowl and more of a frown.</p><p>“And what do you make of our holiday?”</p><p>“I said 'anymore,' not 'never before.'”</p><p>He pushes himself out of the chair and walks over to the door, telling Amoret to call for someone to get the food. He strides past and goes out onto the balcony. These moments are like a lone wolf, fleeing ghost, as though Almira is in a lucid dream and not watching someone walk past her outside. Something about it makes her hesitate to move.</p><p>She stands and approaches anyways, standing in the doorway. One hand raises to the jamb. The moon, a silver, round note in the sky ringing out its silent music that ripples in the garden ponds and drips liquid water over the city. In the gray light, as washed out as he is, Blair soaks up the cool, refreshing night air and vivifying, hoary light.</p><p>“I will stay up late again,” he says without looking back at her. “If you’re tired, you ought to go to bed.”</p><p>“I’m not,” she lies.</p><p>“Tomorrow will be worse.”</p><p>“I heard the first time.”</p><p>“Are you purposefully being pigheaded?” he says brusquely.</p><p>Flustered and burned, Almira retreats back into the room. Soon, a few maids enter to collect the food.</p><p>“Share this amongst yourselves,” she says. “I don’t want it to go to waste. Next time, make sure the portions are smaller—unless you want some.”</p><p>The maids bow and thank her softly. A tired and frustrated Almira lays down, blowing out all of the candles except those on the candelabras next to the balcony door. Blair blows them out anyways, the moonlight giving out enough light for even Almira to see clearly. Blair shuts the balcony door and moves to the corner, making it difficult for Almira to spy. With little else to do and her eyelids growing heavy, she gives into the lull of sleep.</p><p> </p><p>Almira stirs awake when there is movement beside her. She pulls the covers away from her face, one eye cracking open. A blurry Blair takes a blanket from the chest before she slides back into the abyss of unconsciousness. It’s a moment forgotten to a waking Almira.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Traitor to Your Kind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So not exactly sure how this happened (my mistake? autocorrect?) but Amoret's name was changed to Almoret for the last couple of chapters. I've gone back and revised that and will keep an eye out for it in the future. If you see it again, please lmk </p><p>For those who might also be reading Goddess of Blessed Death-- I may not update until after May 17 because of finals and moving. Until I (we) can return to a more stable routine once again in mid to late May, I'll update Vampire King weekly because a few chapters have already been written ahead of time (not having to do research has proved very helpful in that regard lol). To keep up with the posts/if you want to get email updates of when I post, feel free to subscribe to this work or me as a user! </p><p>Anywho, enjoy! Leave a comment or kudos :) It really vamps up</p><p>...I'm probably going to regret that pun, it's so dumb, but I hope someone appreciates it lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Seventeen: Traitor to Your Kind</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>In the morning, Blair is nowhere to be seen. Jedrik has not returned. She sinks into her pillows. It is both lonely and tranquil. She can hear the birds and a feeling of nostalgia swells in her chest. She misses seeing the large, graceful movements of griffins in the sky, watching them train and dance through the air.</p><p>A figure in the corner startles her.</p><p>“Estera,” she mumbles with a sigh of relief. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>Estera steps forward, grinning. “Sorry,” she says. “I was finally able to convince one of the vampires that you should have a lady-in-waiting even if you’re not considered a queen. You probably have a lot on your plate.”</p><p>Almira feels uncomfortable. Queen Xanthe used to go from duty to duty, place to place, yet Almira is confined to Blair-influenced limitations.</p><p>“You didn’t need to do that,” Almira murmurs, sitting up.</p><p>Estera sits on the bedside. She looks quizzically at the other side of the bed. “It doesn’t look touched,” she remarks.</p><p>Almira looks over. “Does it?” she asks, rubbing her eyes. “I try not to pay too much attention to Blair every chance I don’t have to. Looks the same to me as always.”</p><p>“Always?”</p><p>Almira’s brows furrow. “Are you trying to say he’s never slept—” Stopping herself, she shakes her head. “It’s too early for this.” She gets up and gets ready for the day with Estera’s help. While she smooths over her clothes, Estera attends to replacing the flowers and wild carrot. By the time she’s ready for the day, breakfast for three is set out. Estera gives her the seeds with a cup of tea.</p><p>“Are you replacing Jedrik?” Almira asks. “Where is he?”  </p><p>“No, they probably think I’m more of a maid if anything. Jedrik’s outside. Do you want him?”</p><p>“Can’t imagine who else the third plate is for.”</p><p>Estera, Jedrik, and Almira eat together. It is the closest Almira has gotten to a pleasant, domestic scene mimicking life before the siege and coup. But Jedrik is awkward and quiet, and Estera’s laughs are sometimes forced when they used to never be. And when they fall silent, it isn’t so much awkward as it is tense and dispiriting as they go off into their own worlds of worries.</p><p>Almira feels much better with Estera by her side. She forgets Blair’s warning until she’s standing beside him again before the empty hall. Having stepped out of the throne room earlier than yesterday, the line of vampires looks more like a sign of impending doom, like she’s meant to walk down through the hall and out before a mass of subjects for her own execution.</p><p>Instead, Blair sits on the throne, perking up at the sound of the throne room’s door opening and Almira stepping through. For a second, she spots a glimpse of a past Blair, someone younger and more naïve, who played Scravat and laid in bed and ran naked along a beach shore more than he lost battles and won the war. Not someone born a king but made into one who years of learning from mistakes aged him faster than time ever could, someone whose mischief grew into cunning responsibilities grew, as duties weighed more, as life went from idyllic meadows under the sun to war-torn fires and murder.</p><p>It’s gone, and Almira cannot help wanting more. A taste of something forbidden and unknown, titillating and addicting.</p><p>She goes to his side, shoes clicking against the hard floors. Estera and Jedrik stand near her but off of the throne platform. Ascelin is nowhere to be seen, for now. Trepidation rises up in Almira as she looks around for the disconcerting blond vampire.</p><p>“He’s not likely to show today,” Blair says.</p><p>Almira looks at him in surprise.</p><p>“Ascelin is my right hand,” he explains. “He has plenty of other duties to be attending to.”</p><p>“Do you divide the duties evenly?”</p><p>“Depends,” Blair says. “I have the final say regarding everything, but I highly regard his counsel. He oversees much of the economic side. Only a fraction of problems can be solved by anyone or two heads of state. It’s why you find sickness so prevalent amongst more controlling or hands-on sovereigns.”</p><p>“I understand all of that,” Almira says, trying not to sound annoyed. “I’m more curious how you operate than how the average sovereigns operate.”</p><p>“You think me above average?”</p><p>Almira gives him a warning look; she <em>will</em> respond inappropriately if pushed to it.</p><p>“You mean spending the afternoon leisurely?” he asks more seriously. “Once things calm down. Not even assigning a council would work.” He mutters so only she can hear, “They’d only be vampires anyways and you know how I feel about that.”</p><p><em>And yet you haven’t done anything to change it</em>, she thinks bitterly.  </p><p>“Relax, my dear,” he coos. “Change takes time. The war lasted how many centuries?”</p><p>“You’re not seriously expecting us to wait centuries and that go over smoothly?” she whispers heatedly, leaning over to be sure no one hears her words even they hear her tone. Stupid vampire senses.</p><p>“That’s not what I meant. You’re here after, what? A week or so? My days have blended together. You’d know better than I. Vampires are stubborn creatures, I am rather proud of myself.”</p><p>Abruptly, his face hardens. He turns from her. Almira lets out something between a sigh and a huff. If he’s growing weary of her impudence, she’s growing weary of his mercuriality.</p><p>“Anyways,” he says so that everyone can hear. “I do believe it is time. Open the doors.”</p><p>The line of people extends far from the first few at the door. Almira wrings her hands together before she catches herself and links her fingers over her stomach, pressing down against nausea that stirs as murmurs break out in line.</p><p>“It will be fine, Lolotte,” he whispers. “You’re safe. Call them forward when you’re ready.”</p><p>It is oddly comforting, but Almira doesn’t want to think long on it. She calls for the first in line to step forward. He’s older, wrinkled and weathered from the natural progression of age and the harsh reality of life. There is white in his beard but it is so matted and dirty that his natural hair looks like spots.</p><p>“My grandchildren, they’re starving,” he says on shaking legs. “My daughter, she sells herself in Pravus to feed them, but it’s not enough and I’m getting too old to help.”  </p><p>Almira gulps.</p><p>“Your grandchildren’s father?” Blair asks.</p><p>The old man’s face turns red then purple, retaining a greenish swallow to it all the while. He looks stuck between sickness and death, but when he speaks, Almira realizes it’s anger.</p><p>“He was killed,” he says finally. “In war.”</p><p>Blair falls quiet. There is a quirk in his jaw muscle that everyone but her misses. She stands close enough to see it. This is only the first one. She’s not sure if her presence has emboldened the humans or if Blair has always had better self-control than her. While both may be true, she’s fairly certain the former has more to do with the old man before them.</p><p>“Do you wish for food or money for compensation?” Almira says. “You will be compensated for his death in addition to providing some provisions for your family. Your daughter, what are her skills?”</p><p>“We had a farm before,” he says, a little calmer. His face is red but at least no longer purple. “She knows land, but she worked with the animals mostly.”</p><p>“Can someone get her a job?” Almira whispers to Blair. “Out of Pravus.”</p><p>“Yes, easily, but it may require that they move.”</p><p>“What about their land?”</p><p>“How is your land?” Blair asks.</p><p>“Stolen,” the old man hisses, surprising Almira with his ferocity.</p><p>Blair leans against the armrest, his thumb going to his lips as he bites his nail, thinking.</p><p>“Where is your land?”</p><p>“East, our family have lived there for generations upon generations. It was burned, everything.”</p><p>“I thought it was stolen.”</p><p>“Is there a difference?”</p><p>“People will be sent out to rebuild whatever was damaged.”</p><p>“Buildings are only part of a farm,” Almira murmurs.</p><p>“Go to the market and find a man named Maks,” Blair adds. “He will be able to give you some animals for a meager price. Many farm animals ran escaped during raids, you may even be able to find yours if they lived and stayed near. Use the animals to make money this year and then buy for the next harvesting year.”</p><p>The old man stares up at Blair as he fights to keep the anger from melting away. The hall is quiet save for his heavy panting. He looks to Almira. It strikes her like a spear: He wants confirmation from her. She looks at Blair. Does she trust him about Maks? Will the land really be returned to them?</p><p>Blair doesn’t move, though he glances in her direction, as though also waiting, suspended in an air of tension.</p><p>“Who is Maks?” she whispers.</p><p>“He is a human being paid for this exact situation. There are several humans like him. If we paid vampires, it wouldn’t work.”</p><p>“And the building?”</p><p>“All humans, various teams of laborers hired.”</p><p>“Where are you finding them?”</p><p>“Some are groups made by finding individuals, but most of the time, it’s networking. People are desperate for jobs. We take from the taxes to pay them.”</p><p>“Won’t that increase taxes?”</p><p>“Lolotte, you’re getting off-topic,” Blair whispers, and Almira realizes his face is inches away now. “But if you must know, Ascelin is brilliant at overseeing budgets. Tell the human to leave some way of contacting him with the bookkeeper.”</p><p>“Almira stands straight, nodding to the old man. “Leave an address with the bookkeeper,” she tells him.</p><p>Hesitantly, the old man steps away. He goes over to a vampire at a desk by the giant door with a book of names and addresses and needs/compensations in front of him.</p><p>“You’re not going to take this long on each person, are you?” Blair mumbles. It’s purposefully humorous in its woe-is-me attitude.</p><p>“You’re not going to expect me to stay silent, are you?”</p><p>“You’re here for a reason, Lolotte. I didn’t expect that reason to involve so many questions.”</p><p>Almira smirks and calls forth the next person. Each session feels relatively private with voices carrying in the hall but not outside. Just as before, almost every problem harkens back to the war, but so far, despite the dissatisfaction, the fact that they walk away placated is enough to keep their rage at bay. Each counsel is as tense as the next, but for the next two hours, Almira learns to get a grip on her anxiety as she falls into a rhythm with Blair.</p><p> </p><p>After the second hour, the door is closed. Almira is so involved in the counseling that she too finds it abrupt, her voice dying in her throat, about to call another forward, when it slams, and she flinches. Blair stands and stretches. His arms raise and he holds onto on wrist, gently pulling his arm and leaning into the stretch. Like a cat stretching his leg as he basks under warm sunlight, like a black and white Oriental Shorthair with their prominent, pointed ears and willowy, sylphlike body.</p><p>The next thirty minutes consist of Estera gossiping about Blair in their little private room. Jedrik is absorbed, while Almira half-listens. What she does hear only exacerbates her curiosity about Blair when he was younger; how he became The Vampire King, a mortal who inspires the fear of a god, a ruler who will burn down his enemies just to rebuild them. It’s all so strange. She doesn’t want to trust him.</p><p>Surely, the rug will be ripped out from under her soon, and his true colors will show again. He will threaten her, tell her to behave. Yet, as recent as him licking her hand in front of Ascelin was, it feels like another lifetime, or like a vague dream. She supposes the trip to the beach did that. Whether or not it was meant to, it did. Just as Blair would like.</p><p>Surely, he wants her confused. Confused and dependent and pliant. Someone who needs him. . .. Someone who is curious about him. No, if she asks him about his past, he will be another little boy grown up, not her enemy. And so, she doesn’t listen to Estera for the last five minutes her friend is talking. She doesn’t want to talk about him. She doesn’t want to know about him, she tells herself.</p><p>There’s a knock on the door. Amoret answers; it’s Lilitu. Almira tenses. Amoret grins, and the two exchange whispers. Lilitu chuckles. It’s raspy, a little deep, but warm and genuine. She plays with the end of Amoret’s long pony’s tail. Almira has to look away as a sharp, stinging bitterness, a green, blinding envy forms as a lump in her throat.</p><p>A moment later, Estera nudges Almira and nods towards the two vampires. They are watching her as though expecting a reply.</p><p>“What?” Almira asks.</p><p>“Blair is calling for you,” Amoret says.</p><p>“I’ll take you,” Lilitu says with a sneer. Amoret mutters something, and Lilitu frowns. “Later, Am.” She looks at Almira. “Come.”</p><p>Lacking the entitlement of a true royal, Almira obeys. Estera watches her with apprehensive disquiet. Almira and Lilitu cross the hall. Almira’s heart hammers so loudly that she can’t hear her shoes clack against the floor. Just a deep, dull <em>thump thump thump</em>. Louder and louder until it’s cut off by a knock on the other throne room. She enters. Lilitu shuts the door, staying in the hall, and Almira’s core clenches. Whether in terror or fervor, she’s not sure, and she’s not sure she wants to know.</p><p>Almira feels detached from herself when she moves to him, like her feet walking on their own and she is along for the ride, like her waking consciousness has retreated to a dark corner. When she’s near enough, though, Blair takes her hand. Pulls her near, pulls her out of the corner. She sits beside him on the couch, nervous.</p><p>“I could have you bled,” he says, “but it’s a risky and complicated procedure. What a vampire can do innately, knowing when to stop, not having to worry about keeping it fresh and warm. I’d rather not risk it, and . . . I’m selfish.”</p><p>Blair’s cool hand moves to her neck, tipping back her jaw so her head tilts and exposes her. She squirms, recalling the last feeding. The pain, the fear, the threat. It courses through her, pumping blood, a reminder. He takes her hand in his, and she stills. To move would mean pain, however uncomfortable she is. When he bites, though, it is not fear of a threat or pain of a bite she feels, but a numb tingle, a dull drag, and worst of all, guilt.</p><p>Her hand goes to the back of his neck to steady herself. She feels ill—and not from the feeding. It is a calm feeding at the start. Blair holds her close. Soon, his body quakes, as she has come to expect. He squeezes and clings and takes. She holds and caresses and gives. She gives willingly, she knows, and that is what brings on the ache in her head and churning in her stomach.</p><p>Finally, Blair lets her go. Without a thought, Almira kisses him. It speaks of longing and bitterness and sweetness. Of her envy of what Lilitu and Amoret have now and someday will. Of her pain and desire to wash it away. Of the beach and salt and sand and horsehair. How she wants nothing more than the beach. How the beach was one of many illusions. How illusions are as tricky as denial, for they are one and the same.</p><p>She doesn’t register the taste of her own blood until after. His thumb rubs against her cheek, tracing the bone to her ear, moving back and forth. Back and forth, back and forth, soothing. As much as her anger has left, morose fills its place. She wants what she cannot and should not have. She wishes to keep her rose-colored glasses on forever, to dance naked in the ocean, but they are in the middle of counseling subjects and the ocean is far off.</p><p>They don’t speak, Almira leaning back against Blair’s chest. He moves only to wash down the last of the blood in his mouth. The feeling returns. Guilt. Not shame. Not fear or anger, nothing that could make her want to scream. No, she wants to turn inwards, to curl up into herself until she is a speck carried off by a passing breeze.</p><p>She hates this feeling. Her grandmother once said to avoid it at all costs. It is a feeling that entraps, a feeling that makes you do things you wouldn’t do otherwise. Peer pressure and shame come from outside, but guilt comes from within, her grandmother said. Unfortunately, she has enough self-awareness to know what it comes from.</p><p>But how can she be with a man she hates? She asked Lilitu that, but she doesn’t hate him, and that’s the catch. She wants to know more and she wants to return to the beach. She doesn’t want Jedrik, and yet she needs him, but she only needs him because of what she understands to be her reality. It holds her in his arms with a warm embrace and cool hands, smelling of mint with a hint of metallic. The soft cadence of breath passes over the top of her ear, his chest rises and falling beneath her. She can feel his heart, how it soothes, like a drug.</p><p>“What starts with a T, ends with a T, and has T in it?” she murmurs.</p><p>He breaths evenly beneath her. She can feel his heartbeat softly against her back.</p><p>“A teapot,” he says.</p><p>But he does not offer his own riddle and the last few minutes pass in silence. Blair’s eyes close, his breathing slows, but the arms around her never loosen or go limp. At one point, one hand moves to her neck, and he massages the skin around the bite. She leans into him, and they rest as fishers and sailors did during the Halycon Days. </p><p>Lilitu knocks, and Almira is quick to sit up. Standing, she inspects her neck in the mirror on the wall. Blair stands behind her, silently evaluating and a haughty expression crosses his face. Where there would normally be slight inflammation or red splotching from her blood being pulled to her skin’s surface, there is none.</p><p>“You impress yourself over anything, don’t you?” she asks. It is a jab, but a teasing one.</p><p>“I am a man of many talents, but this is common amongst some vampires,” he says, checking his appearance before opening the door to leave. They step onto the platform.</p><p><em>Some vampires.</em> She wonders why only some. Perhaps some can’t be bothered. Blair wasn’t until just now, after all, but it raises a question in her mind: What changed that he would be on one side of the “some” and change to the other?</p><p>Almira isn’t given time to ponder further, which she’s glad for, when Blair tells her he’s ready whenever she is. Distractions from overthinking. She calls the first vampire forward.</p><p> </p><p>The next two hours pass relatively uneventful, and likewise, the next few days. Almira wakes and Estera helps her to get ready for the day. She checks for her letter opener each morning, having told Estera where it is in case she should need it. With Jedrik, they eat breakfast and then she assists Blair with counseling for four to five hours. The time slowly grows longer, Almira notices, bleeding into the late morning. Ascelin is still nowhere to be seen, thankfully. Almira could avoid him for the rest of her life in blissful ignorance of whatever is going on with him. Leandro, though, is brought in to help the vampire taking down names and needs.</p><p>Then, she spends much of the day in the parts of the garden she is allowed to explore or in the library, escaping from horror stories and stressful relationships. She and Estera collect the flowers and wild carrot during these times. Jedrik walks behind them, and Amoret is never far.</p><p>They are always careful to return about an hour or two before Jedrik leaves to train during the first half of the night. That way, Estera can eat the gross seeds and Jedrik can teach Almira and Estera whatever he is learning. They have to be quiet and often try to joke around and pretend they are playing a game or dancing during these times to cover up any possible sound the vampires right outside might pick up. As much as the king’s and queen’s rooms are meant to be soundproof, they were built according to human hearing.</p><p>Between Jedrik coming late and leaving early and Estera’s new presence, there is little room to be sneaking in any rendezvous. When Estera returns to the queen, who according to her is growing increasingly closed off to Almira’s distress, when they entangle and fuck the stress away, there is a nagging question in the far recesses of her mind. She avoids vampiric clothes at all costs. Though the bruises are few and centered around her hips, she’s afraid to take a chance. It’s not as though she has the excuse of Blair staying the night; he returns late and leaves early if he returns at all. Most of the time she sleeps through it and has no idea.</p><p>Feeding largely occurs in the private confines of his throne room. It is then that the nagging questions, and sometimes even answers come to the forefront, and burn and scold so that she flitters from one to the next like they’re hot coals in her hands being tossed to her. Still, she cannot let Jedrik go. She wants a <em>human</em> to anchor her and distract her. She wants to tell herself comforting lies, even if just for a slim portion of her day. Jedrik gives what she needs because she is sure he is taking from her, too. It is sick and somber and comforting and commiserating and its own kind of twisted love all wrapped up together.</p><p>The days pass just like that. Little changes. Almira sees little of Blair. At first, she is thankful. By the end of the week, though, she feels like pulling at her hair. They have to talk, but he doesn’t give her enough time. She’s meant to be bringing changes, she’s meant to be helping her queen. Queen Xanthe communicates solely through Estera now. It was a strike of lightning when Estera advised Almira not to see the other ladies until more changes occur.</p><p>The pressure grows, expands, swells like a mass inside of her. It latches onto her side, leeching her energy and spitting back insecurity and desperation. She can’t sleep, she doesn’t want to eat. Blair looks at her with pity more than anything, but he says nothing, even when she pesters him about letting her do more, take on more.</p><p>“I can help you,” she says but he only ever shakes his head and changes the topic or falls silent.</p><p>She grows wilder with each day, sharper in tongue. She is tired of hearing of human loss from the war and thieving from their own and from greedier vampires, she is tired of hearing of vampires fighting for greater control over their <em>food source</em>. Until finally, the mass of guilt and the leech of pressure have distended as far as they can, and she is left bloated, set to explode.</p><p>It happens a little over a week later.</p><p> </p><p>A vampire with red hair tied back cascading down his velvet crimson coat enters the hall. A hooded figure follows with emaciated legs and arms and unable to walk straight. Their dark skin lacks a gray ting to their skin, their petite frame hints at adolescence. The guards stare. Lilitu takes a step forward, glancing over to Blair. Almira thinks she’s going to be sick she is growing so angry and disturbed with each wobbly step the young girl takes. The hood doesn’t need to be removed for her to understand this human is a Feeder. By the way she walks, the thinness, the bruises and cuts, there is no way it was by choice, Almira thinks and hopes.</p><p>“She keeps running away, this bitch,” croaks the vampire. “She attacked me the other day.”</p><p>Almira bites down on her tongue. In the back of her mouth, where her molars are, she tastes blood. She has to focus on a crack in the floor to not go blind with rage. She can hear her own panting as her breathing quickens. She wants to ask for a seat for the girl, but she’s afraid that once she starts speaking, she will not stop yelling, and Blair will take back this one thing he has given her.</p><p>Blair’s fingers curl around and grip the edge of the armrest until they are as white as the castle tile after it’s been scrubbed clean every week. He doesn’t respond immediately, and it eats at Almira as she struggles to hold her tongue.</p><p>“What happened?” he says finally. It is so quiet that it doesn’t even carry through the hall.</p><p>The vampire looks confused for a moment but quickly launches into a fit. “I was hungry, and I went to feed,” he says. “She <em>attacked</em> <em>me</em>. I give her food and shelter and clothes--”</p><p>“Do you?” Blair’s voice cuts through the air, and the vampire looks as though he has been smacked across the face.</p><p>“She doesn’t eat! What clothes I give her, she refuses! I give her everything she needs and more and still she refuses to know her place. These humans, they are not like your woman, they fight back—”</p><p>“Remove her hood,” Almira interjects. The vampire looks at her and ignores her, his gaze going back to Blair as though she never spoke. “I said to remove her hood.”</p><p>“My king, she is my—”</p><p>Almira marches off the platform, scowling, and goes to the young girl. She is so small, so frail.</p><p>“It’s okay,” she whispers. “Can I take off your hood?”</p><p>“My king!” protests the vampire.</p><p>Blair raises his hand, and the vampire goes quiet. The girl looks up at Almira, and her breath catches. She cannot be older than sixteen, beaten until one eye is swollen and her lip is split in multiple places. Her nose is crooked and bruised from a break that was never set. She lets out a slight wheeze and raises a shaking hand.</p><p>“Please, Your Majesty,” she rasps. “Help. Me. My name is Clora Waleria of Loysius. My parents--” She breaks into a coughing fit.   </p><p>Almira takes her hand, squeezing it. It’s cold as ice. She gingerly tugs back the hood to reveal the girl’s face. Blair stands and steps forward, stopping when the girl cowers. He looks to the red-haired vampire.</p><p>“Let’s say she is your property,” Blair says, and Almira glares at him, opening her mouth when he continues, “Then it is your duty to care for her properly. I wasn’t aware that includes <em>beating</em>. Let’s say my dear here,” he motions to Almira, “is my property, hm? What do you see?”</p><p>The vampire regards her coolly with a simmering rage. This is not going where he wanted, and he hates her for it. “I see a poor human dressed. . . distastefully.”</p><p>“And if she is my property, then speaking of her in that manner insults <em>who</em>?” Blair growls. “Lord Tedorik, yes? I have seen you before. You cheated during a hunt if I recall correctly.”</p><p>The vampire’s cheeks and neck redden to match his coat.</p><p>“Did you buy this woman?”</p><p>“Of course!”</p><p>“Where are the papers?”</p><p>“The papers?” he sputters. “It was a private deal. All vampires are acquisitioning their Feeders that way. We follow your example, my king.”</p><p>Blair’s eyes widen not with surprise but rage. “Do you know why there are no papers, Tedorik?” he half-yells. “Did you even consider that I didn’t buy her?”</p><p>“You-you took her, my king,” Tedorik squeaks. “We won the war—”</p><p>“She is not my property, you imbecile!”</p><p>Tedorik’s jaw opens and closes like he is a broken machine. “But, but Feeders—”</p><p>A switch occurs in Blair so quickly you’d think he’s mad. He smirks. “Chose me,” he says, calm and arrogance personified.</p><p>Almira was so caught up in Blair putting Tedorik in his place that she nearly misses that comment. But she’s afraid to say anything, afraid for Clora if she snaps at Blair right then.</p><p>“So,” Blair continues, “If she were your property, we have all the right to seize her, because you have failed to care for her, but is not. Feeders will not be forced into it.”</p><p>“We will starve!” Tedorik protests.</p><p>“You might.” It’s a fact that Blair seems to find dull and unbothersome. He sits back in his throne. “Seize the girl. Have her taken to a local physician. What’s her name?”</p><p>Almira stalls, not realizing the question is directed to her. “Um, Waleria, Clora Waleria of Loysius,” she murmurs, half-stunned as her mind reels to process.</p><p>A vampire guard offers Clora her hand. Almira nods encouragingly, and the girl takes it to be led away. Lord Tedorik watches, infuriated. Blair stands again once the girl is several paces away and approaches. Tedorik steps back, shrinking into himself with each step Blair takes towards him. Almira doesn’t move, holding his gaze, watching him carefully.</p><p>“I hope not to see you here again, Tedorik,” Blair says.</p><p>“You will regret this, Desdemona,” he hisses and marches out of the hall.</p><p>Almira stares at him, shocked. She turns sharply to Blair. “That’s it?” she demands.</p><p>“Lolotte,” he says with the undertone of a warning. “Come here.”</p><p>She doesn’t move. He beckons her with a finger. His brow pinches, his mouth forming into a thin line. A line she is crossing, a risk she is not sure she can get away with. Almira caves. She walks up to him.</p><p>“We—” Blair stands suddenly and walks around Almira.</p><p>She moves to snap at him when she sees over his shoulder that Tedorik has returned. In a flash, the guards have formed a line between them and the vengeful vampire.</p><p>“You will regret this!” he yells, and Almira thinks he really has gone mad. His face is redder than his coat, his limbs flail with grand gestures. He looks more like a stringed puppet being jerked around than anything human or even vampire. “You have chosen the humans, Desdemona. The vampires are growing restless. You cave. <em>She</em> has bewitched you. You know you cannot withstand a single Feeder! They have to be taught and shaped and made! <em>They</em> serve <em>us</em>!”</p><p>“Strip him of his power,” Almira tells Blair.</p><p>Blair steps to the side so that he can easily look back and forth from Almira and Tedorik.</p><p>“She’s poisoning your mind!”</p><p>“He’s a threat to you now.”</p><p>“You’ve grown lazy!”</p><p>Before Almira can counter, Blair orders for the doors to be shut.</p><p>Fear flashes across Lord Tedorik’s face. The red softens to a pink as the color drains from his face for a second, only for his wrath to return in full force.</p><p>“You are a traitor to your kind,” Tedorik says. “Go ahead, make me a martyr.”</p><p>Blair is stalking across the hall, walking through the line of the guards. Almira experiences a sinking feeling, like she is falling through the floors. In one stroke, Blair a hidden dagger and, grabbing Tedorik by the back of the neck, runs it through his throat.</p><p>“You cannot be a martyr if no one knows you died, Lord Tedorik,” he hisses as the vampire spits out blood and goes limp.</p><p>A sick groaning fills the hall as blood runs down into the coat and drips to the floor. With a sharp jerk, the dagger cuts through the rest of his neck, and Blair drops the body.</p><p>“Today’s townhall is over. We will accommodate tomorrow,” Blair says tells Leandro and the vampire beside him at the desk. “Announce that negotiations are being made with Lord Tedorik.” He takes the handkerchief from the vampire’s jacket and wipes the blood off of his knife. Leandro watches with bugged, terrified eyes. “Get word to the girl that my talk with him has ensured he will no longer have access to her. Ask her if he kept others; if she confirms it, whatever is done for her, do for them. Do not mention his death or it will also mean yours.”</p><p>The vampire nods and stands. “I leave you to it, then,” he tells Leandro.</p><p>“Yes, right, okay,” Leandro says as though stuck in a trance.</p><p>While Almira has retreated to be with Jedrik and Estera, Lilitu has walked up to Blair.</p><p>“Is the Council convened?” he asks.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Blair tucks his blade back at his side and walks through the guards towards the door opposite where Almira stands. She starts to walk towards him when he shakes his head.</p><p>“Take her back to our room,” he tells Amoret and walks through the door, gone.</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Sharp Peppermint and Warm Chamomile</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Don't forget to comment reactions! They're super helpful to me :) Feel free to leave Kudos also if you're enjoying it</p><p>MB</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <strong>Eighteen: Sharp Peppermint and Warm Chamomile</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Back in the bedroom, Almira paces. Her minds races.</p><p>“Do you think no one will really find out?” Estera asks, worried.</p><p>“I can’t believe he killed someone like that,” Jedrik mutters, angry. “Vampires. They either think they own us or they’re killers. So cold-blooded.”</p><p>“Such offenses had the same consequences when Her Majesty ruled,” Estera points out. She’s standing off to the side, biting her nails. “Just less. . . Well, it would have been official and public.”</p><p>“Exactly,” Jedrik says. “Who knows what else he’ll do. Her Majesty has talked him out of killing before, but that doesn’t mean he’ll listen. He’s growing in power. He’ll listen less and less if he’s able to.”</p><p>“He killed this time because he was insulted by one of his own,” Almira says. “My concern is humans.”</p><p>“They’ve integrated themselves so deeply here already,” Estera murmurs. “They own businesses, they’re <em>kidnapping</em> people.” She shakes her head.</p><p>“There must be so many like Clora,” Almira agrees. She runs her hands over her face. Another thing to talk to Blair about.</p><p>“Do you think you can help them?” Estera asks.</p><p>“We won’t really be free until we’re no longer under vampire rule,” Jedirk says.</p><p>“It’s not like we’re strong enough to fight them off now that they’re here,” Estera mutters. “Did you see how quickly he moved? In the blink of an eye, that vampire was dead! If we start another war, how do you imagine that will end? People are finally getting their land and way of life back. War would take all of that away and more than before.”</p><p>Jedrik doesn’t respond. It hurts to admit, but Almira thinks Estera is right. She cannot lead the humans into another war. That can’t be her long-term goal; it would be disastrous.</p><p>“What do you think the vampire meant about not being able to withstand a single Feeder? Isn’t that odd?” Estera says. She stand beside Almira, taking her hand. “They think a single human being more of a threat than many? Do you think it’s some weird vampire superstition? You could use it, if Blair believes it, too.”</p><p><em>She has bewitched you. You know you cannot withstand a single Feeder!</em> That’s what Lord Tedorik said.</p><p>Almira resumes pacing. “I think I know what he’s talking about,” she says, “but I’m not certain. Blair has mentioned bonding occurring the longer a vampire feeds with someone.”</p><p>“Maybe they believe that the more Feeders you have, the more energy or attention you have spread out,” Jedrik says “They wouldn’t be relying on just one, then, right? It makes them more disposable.”  </p><p>“Lilitu said vampires are largely exclusive, but wouldn’t that refer to a relationship with two vampires?” Almira sits down with a long exhale.</p><p>Estera walks up to her. “Do you think that’s why he rarely comes back?” she asks.</p><p>Jedrik turns away, looking outside. Almira shrugs. Estera’s eyes widen as she looks between them. She grows very quiet and very still.</p><p>The door opens. “Jedrik, Estera, come with me,” Amoret says.</p><p>This isn’t routine. Alarm bells ring through Almira. “Why?” she demands.</p><p>“He’s returning early and wishes to speak to you in private,” Amoret says.</p><p>Estera squeezes Almira hand and leaves with Jedrik. Almira paces the room, uneasy but not necessarily afraid. Yet. In the time it takes Blair to arrive after a handful of minutes, she has barely begun to organize her thoughts into something resembling coherency.</p><p>He enters and drops his sword onto the dresser with a loud <em>thud</em>.</p><p>“They don't want you attending the townhalls anymore,” he says.</p><p>“You can’t let them—”</p><p>“I didn’t.” Rubbing his forehead as though his head aches, Blair goes to the chest at the bottom of their bed and sits down. “They are split almost evenly. Those on the fence go back and forth.” He sighs and with that exhale, all energy wanes from him. “If this continues, they will allow everything to be destroyed.” His hand balls and his slams his fist against the arm rest, panting.</p><p>Almira moves warily to stand near him. “What do you mean?” she asks. “They’re torn about me?”</p><p>“That’s only one thing,” he scoffs, glancing up at her. “Half are traditionalists like Tedorik. The other half are like me.”</p><p>“I thought you have final say.”</p><p>“I have to be careful with that,” he murmurs and straightens his back. “If I use it too often, they will see me as a tyrant and there will be a coup.”</p><p>“But if there isn’t change, you think there will be a coup.”</p><p>“It’s inevitable in this environment. The humans are dissatisfied for mostly the same reason—inequality—and the vampires are dissatisfied for two main reasons—it’s not unequal enough or it’s not equal enough.”</p><p>“Why would vampires want more equality?”</p><p>“It’s mutually beneficial economically speaking,” he says, “And generally speaking, it’s just more humane. Take your human emotions and exacerbate them, then imagine what guilt and anger feel like at that level. That is a vampire’s norm.”</p><p>“But you don’t think of me as your equal.”</p><p>Blair scratches absentmindedly at the top of the chest with one of his index fingers. The nail drags against the painted wood and iron loudly.</p><p>“Tedorik thought I had some special power,” she says. “And yet, the humans have lost a queen.”</p><p>“Only in title. She’s just as temperamental and stubborn.”</p><p>“I’m being serious.”</p><p>“So am I, to a point.”</p><p>“You’re also avoiding the topic.”</p><p>“It is an old and racist saying passed from mother to child,” Blair explains, irate. “A vampire and their Feeder bonds. It was used to teach vampires that they should Feed only off of each other. That human blood is more potent. If you have a human as a Feeder, you have an excuse to treat them with disregard and abuse. It’s archaic and pathetic and an excuse to behave poorly, as if that has ever solved anything. You are no longer queen because people believe this and because I am stubborn, too.”</p><p>“My losing rank equates to your stubbornness how?”</p><p>“Remember the first few days, I said I’m very patient. You cannot get rid of me, Lolotte, so you can either marry me and reinstate yourself or you can stay as you are, fighting tooth and nail fruitlessly.”</p><p>Almira is quiet, falling lost in thought. How tempting it is to marry him right then and there. To take up the offer and reinstate herself. But she is not really queen. Her queen seems to have given up, locking herself in her ex-husband’s bedroom. And who is to say Blair’s words aren’t pretty little lies. Sweet nothings whispered in a lover’s ear. She could marry him, and he could take everything away.</p><p>“If Lord Toderik was a traditionalist and half of your Council is, did you tell them of his death?” she asks.</p><p>“Yes, they’re sworn to secrecy. They did not take it well, but it’s not as though I killed him without thought. Not even his fellow traditionalists were fond of him. It won’t be hard for the less extreme ones to be convinced. It’s the couple of extreme ones that we will have to monitor.”</p><p>“Why did you lie?” Almira asks.</p><p>Blair perks up from confusion, curious by what she means. “Lie?” he laughs lightly. “I didn’t—oh, you think you didn’t choose me, is that it?” </p><p>Almira doesn’t have to retort for him to know it is.</p><p>“I don’t recall being the first to initiate anything," he says. </p><p>“I had no choice!”</p><p>“I know, you didn’t want me to die.”</p><p>“I-no! I mean, yes, yes—I mean, I would not have cared. I thought you must have been Feeding off of someone else, but Lilitu said vampires can fast for long periods of time.”</p><p>“I do admit, vampires don’t taste as good as you.”</p><p>Almira scowls. “Don’t be crude,” she says.</p><p>Blair grins, a mischievous blue fire in his eyes. “I was attacked that first time,” he insists.</p><p>“Now you are positively joking.” She rolls her eyes even as heat rises to her cheeks.</p><p>Hands slip around her waist, pulling her closer, pulling her onto him. He points to the bathroom door.</p><p>“I think I was minding my own business, washing when someone jumped me.”</p><p>“Absolutely not. Before that first Feeding, you promised there would be change. Do you remember <em>that</em>?”</p><p>“Maybe you are the bewitched one, my dear, because you seem to have lost some memory.”</p><p>“Both firsts were pity,” she grouses out of spite.</p><p>“That is neither an insult nor a shame to me, love.” He chuckles, and his hands slip up from her waist to her arms and move further up toward her face and hair.</p><p>Almira stands abruptly. The mass and leech have returned. She swallows and steps away.</p><p>“In the beginning, you promised me policies.”</p><p>Blair’s voice comes from directly behind, having followed her. “Some have already been passed and signed by me. Others are taking longer; traditionalists are hard to convince.”</p><p>“If you won’t give me something to do more directly influential, then I want something else,” she says. </p><p>“Go on.”</p><p>“There must be more like Clora. I want to see that they are found and rescued.”</p><p>“They are discussing the Waleria Act as we speak. Should it pass, I will sign it over to you to oversee its implementation.”</p><p>Almira turns around to find him standing right in front of her. She passes through a waft of mint like one might a cloud of fog. She steps back. The guilt rips through her.</p><p>“I don’t belong to you,” she says, more to herself than to him, and it incites a change in the room.</p><p>Blair’s eyes glow with anger. “You don’t belong to him either.” His voice burns like acid, rough from sleep deprivation and exertion, but true.</p><p>Almira takes another step back.</p><p>“What if word got out?” he asks cruelly, and now she understands why he so rarely would return. Sure, he was busy, but he was busy before Jedrik, before the trip, too. He is as frustrated as she is. “Would you like your people to know of your lover Jedrik? Would you like to become a queen who flittered from one man to another, while they struggle on with their own problems?”</p><p>“You can’t know how they will react,” she says. “It was impulsive the first time, fine, but you cannot trick me into regret when--” She stops herself.  </p><p>“Have you known a human queen who took a lover to be well-loved?” he challenges.</p><p>“That was when she had the choice to marry a fellow human.”</p><p>“And what is wrong with a vampire, Lolotte?” He grows impassioned. “Is it the funny ears? Is it the skin, the uncanniness of our existence through your slow eyes and closed-off minds? Is it the war? Do any of us know how it even began?”</p><p>“It—”</p><p>“No,” he snaps. “I don’t want to hear of that topic until you have read <em>our</em> history books. Then, <em>and only then</em>, will I talk about it with a human. You may have your Jedrik, but I see how you interact. There is no love, Lolotte.”</p><p>“Stop it.”</p><p>“You look at him with guilty eyes.”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>“You blame him—”</p><p>“No!” she shouts, fighting back angry tears. She has managed to hold it in for so long, she doesn’t want to break now. “That is the worst part.”</p><p>“You blame me, then.” His anger has ebbed.</p><p>“Yes.” She’s deflated from admitting the truth. Her voice is strange as she fights back a sob. “And myself. That’s why I feel guilt and not hate, isn’t it? I want to hate you. It would be easier that way.”</p><p>“Do you want me to return at night?” Blair whispers.</p><p>She sniffles, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. “I want you to give me what I asked for from the very beginning,” she says. “Your stupid trip, your stupid masks, they confuse and manipulate. I won’t let you anymore. I’m never marrying you until I get what I want, until I know you can never take it away.”</p><p>She goes to the dresser to find a handkerchief. Blair follows again.</p><p>“Can’t I have some space?” she grumbles. “It’s not like I’m trying to grab your sword, I’m not stupid.” She fishes out a handkerchief and wipes her nose and the corners of her eyes. He takes the piece of cloth from her, putting it aside.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says, stepping back.</p><p>She looks at him with reddened eyes. “Prove it,” she demands. “If you give me the Waleria Act, I will believe you.”</p><p>“I have already promised that.”</p><p>“A promise doesn’t have to be kept to be a promise. Promise is the intention, it’s not the end consequence. When I have the Waleria Act, I will begin believing you and your promises.”</p><p>Blair nods.</p><p>“What if I let you have him, too?” He is imbued with such innocence in that question, Almira’s tears threaten to return. Again, that flash of someone younger, someone ignorant of an age-old war.</p><p>She shakes her head. “He is a lie I tell myself to sleep at night,” she whispers.</p><p>Hesitantly, Blair kisses her forehead. When she does not pull away, he goes slowly to her lips. She could pull away. She knows she should.</p><p>One of her arms goes to his neck. His hand moves to her back, pulling her close. His other hand takes her free one and moves it to his neck so that her arms wrap around him. She doesn’t know she is crying until she tastes the salt amidst the kiss. His hands cradle her face gently, wiping the tears away.</p><p>“You will have your Waleria Act, Lolotte,” Blair whispers to her after breaking away. “You will have all number of changes. Your land and people will be diverse and peaceful. Someday, you will be a queen and an empress of both vampires and humans. You will look back and think, ‘Surely this was someone else’s life.’”</p><p>Almira sobs against his shoulder. Not because she believes him but because he puts into words what she dares not dream of. Blair sways slightly, like a mother might with a crying babe. When she reaches for the handkerchief that he set on the dresser top, she sees that his eyes are red and wet, too. He is a lost cub in pain. She takes the corner and wipes his face.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Lolotte,” he murmurs.</p><p>Almira takes his face in her hands and kisses him deeply. She takes his hand and pulls them towards the bed, but Blair pulls in a different direction. He takes her to the bathroom and runs the water. While they wait for the warm water to fill the tub, Blair kisses Almira’s hands, arms, her shoulders, her neck. He unties her top and skirts so they pool on the floor. The only time he pauses is when he spots the bruises at her sides, but he makes no comment. He reaches for the herbs and oils, picking peppermint and lavender, to toss into the water while Almira works on the buttons of his top and pants.</p><p>Once naked, they step into the bath. She moves to pleasure him, but Blair turns her around and washes her hair.</p><p>“Relax, Lolotte,” he says. “Sex does not have to be your only distraction. Don’t become like a vampire addicted to blood.”</p><p>She lets her head drop back and eyes close as he spends the half-hour lathering and rinsing her long brunette hair, spending more time than even she cares too sometimes. She focuses on the massage as he scrubs at her scalp; then, when he’s washing the ends, she focuses on the warm water, the smell of peppermint and lavender, the sway of the water as his arms move, the mix of coral and cranberry and plum sunset colors drifting into the bathroom that grow darker and darker until they’re washed away by a deep navy sky with moonlight streaming in.</p><p>She turns around. “Let me,” she asks.</p><p>He ducks under and when he rises, water splashes over onto the floor. His inky black hair is silky soft as ever and smells of his favorite bath herbs, sharp peppermint and warm chamomile. He hands her the goat milk, argan oil, and oats soap he used on her hair, so she spends the next several minutes washing his hair. It’s not as long and so not as tedious, but he lets the oil soak for a few before dipping under again.</p><p>When he’s under, a hand grabs Almira’s ankle and yanks. She grabs the edge of the tub with a shout. The top of his head rises from the water, hair sticking to the sides of his face, eyes looking up mischievously as the water swayed just beneath them. Even with the rest of his blurred by the soapy water, she can tell he’s smiling by the lines at his eyes.</p><p>“Don’t do that.” She splashes him weakly.</p><p>Blair sits up and wiggles over so that they sit more closely in the tub. She’s in his lap, her legs wrapped around him. Her fingers trace his eyebrows, his cheeks, his nose, his lips. She brushes them against his point ears.</p><p>“They’re not funny,” Almira murmurs.</p><p>He runs a finger down the curve at the top of her ear. “Did you know yours work as funnel? Because of its shape, it works best when listening to something you face.”</p><p>“And yours?”</p><p>“Very similarly, but our canal is deeper and more tapered so we can catch more,” he explains. “Ours tend to be more flexible. A father might move his ears to make his child laugh.”</p><p>“Did yours?”</p><p>Blair smiles morosely, his eyes soft indigo. “Another time,” he says. He gets out of the bath, and Almira regrets asking. He slips into his robe but doesn’t tie it; instead, he goes digging through the shelves. Almira watches him curiously. He pulls out a small, peacock-colored stoneware jar, lifting the lid and setting it aside. He waits for her to get out and start to dry off.</p><p>“What is it?” Almira asks.</p><p>“For the bruising,” he says, a little gruffly, and sets to work. He dabs the cool cream onto her hot skin. His face is hard. Not angry but trying to hide whatever he <em>is</em> feeling.</p><p>She takes his hand and sets the cream aside. “Come on,” she coaxes, leaning closer. A shiver runs up his spine, and she kisses him before leading him back to bed. For the first time since their trip to the ocean, she does forget for a while. There is no nagging or questions to pull her in and out of reality. There is just Blair and her. His occasional teasing and her idle threats. He is unusually gentle, so much so that she finds it off-putting at first, but he doesn’t give into her prodding, and by the end, he’s successfully convinced her that a slow build-up can be just as good as bruises and scratches.</p><p> </p><p>A couple hours later, Almira has found that blissful after-sex state once again where she is tired and happy, languid and comfortable, like a heavy fur blanket lays over her. The night air feels refreshing against her flushed skin. Blair’s eyes are closed but his breathing is not deep enough for him to be asleep. They lay facing enough other, her arm laying over his neck so her hand absently massages his head and runs through his still-damp hair. He grabbed her and pulled her close almost immediately after finishing, slinging his arm over her side, and they have not moved since.</p><p>Steadily, though, over the course of almost an hour, the glow washes away as the moon reaches its peak. It feels like she jumped off a cliff and rolled over jagged rocks. This, too, she is certain, is another illusion. Suddenly, anger and disgust rage within her. So much so that she jerks back, scrambling out of the bed and clawing at the blankets, on the ground—where is her goddamn robe? She feels naked in every sense of the word.</p><p>“Stop,” he says and grabs her wrists. “Stop.”</p><p>She grimaces, and he lets go. Almira’s hands fly to her face and she brings her knees to her cheeks, leaning against the bed. “What am I doing?” she mutters. “I am so tired of feeling guilty that I think what?” She demands angrily, “<em>What</em>?”</p><p>Blair tenderly tugs one of her hands away from her face. “Does it matter?” he asks.</p><p>“Of course, it does.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Why? What do you mean why? Because this is not <em>real</em>.”</p><p>Blair flinches, pulling his hand away, and Almira suddenly remembers who she is talking to. She lets out an exasperated sigh.</p><p>“I am glad I’m not the only lost one,” she mutters.</p><p>“Do you think you are lost?” Blair asks. “Do you think I can’t make my own choices, or you, yours?”</p><p>“That is not fair to ask me,” she snaps. “You know I cannot.”</p><p>His cheeks flush, and he stands to go to the closet. Almira wallows in her self-pity until he steps out fully dressed. She scrambles up, tying her robe, and stepping between him and his sword.</p><p>“You’re either playing games with me or yourself or both,” Blair hisses. “I, for one, have no interest in participating.”</p><p>“Wait,” Almira murmurs. It’s borderline begging.</p><p>“For what?” he demands. “Another mood swing? <em>No</em>, these aren’t even mood swings. You're like a vampire gone half-mad. Starting tomorrow, start going out for walks or something. Clearly, this castle life is not suitable. You don’t know what you want, and you tug me back and forth with you.”</p><p>It stings because Blair is right. Half-right.</p><p>“I know what I want,” she retorts. “The difference is I can’t have it.”</p><p>“What you need is patience,” he snaps and reaches over her towards his sword. Almira grabs his arm to stop him. “Lolo,” he orders. </p><p>“I am tired, so tired,” she says. “Everything real feels fake and everything fake feels real. I cannot tell up from down anymore.”</p><p>“Find your own up and down, then,” he says. His words are said curtly, and yet, they strike a chord within Almira. She lets him go and steps away, but strangely, he doesn’t grab his sword and leave.</p><p>“If I’m being honest,” he adds, “I thought you already had.”</p><p>“Only on certain matters, it seems.”</p><p>Blair nods sympathetically. Almira goes to the chest and sits down, a wall of exhaustion smacking into her. Why did she just do that? Why did she freak out like that? She can’t even understand herself anymore; another terrifying concept to add to her list of ‘Why My Life Is Shit.’</p><p>“I don’t think this is something I can help you with,” Blair says. “What I mean is, I think this is all in your own head.”</p><p>“I—” she starts. ”I. . . feel like I don’t know anything anymore, like I’m grasping through sand.”</p><p>Blair kneels before her. “Do you think that when you stand beside me in the hall?” he asks.</p><p>“It’s become the only place I don’t feel that way, but it is also the only place where my speech is limited.”</p><p>Blair’s jaw muscle quirks as he frowns. “If you do not meet certain expectations, I will have no choice but to not allow you to help.”</p><p>Almira has heard that from him so many times that she’s not sure she believes it anymore. She nods anyway.</p><p>“Why did you do that just now?” Blair takes one of her hands in both of his.</p><p>Because she can think of no other answer, she whispers, “I’m scared.”</p><p>“Me, too.”</p><p>Almira blinks, surprised. Blair sits beside her.</p><p>“I am afraid all of this will be for naught,” he admits. “That there will be no chance of peace. I hate talking of the war, but there is one thing you should know: I wanted it to end, and so I did that. I don’t know what you were told, but I was crowned, and a few years later, I led the siege.”</p><p>Almira’s brows furrow. “Are you saying it was prolonged?” she asks.</p><p>“Before Ascelin and I, yes, though it’s difficult to tell if it was advertent or not and for how long it had been going on. It had little to do with any unnatural gifts I may or may not have, and everything to do with the fact that I knew we could stop the war and I knew how, and so I did. Do you remember the first time we met?”  </p><p>Almira tries to hide the panic rising within her. She looks away from Blair. The queen only ever met suitors in private.</p><p>“We had discussed negotiations,” he mutters.</p><p>“You want to end the war,” Almira says, following his meaning and spitting something out, desperate not to be caught. But what he says next is like a hole opened beneath her and the earth swallowed her up. </p><p>“You refused. A political union, a stalemate, greater trade, all of it, you refused. You swore you would win. You gave me no other option if I wanted to stop it. It’s not as though we would lie down and let you take us.”</p><p>Almira unwittingly jerks back, stunned. Thankfully, Blair isn’t looking at her.</p><p>“You said I was crass to come to the ceremony and discuss war. I spent most of the time in the garden, not leaving only to keep up an appearance, though I was ostracized from the start as the only vampire.”</p><p>Almira’s heart slams against her chest bone with every beat. Her queen, Xanthe, she. . . She could have prevented it.</p><p>“Love,” Almira croaks weakly. “Humans, sh-we marry for love.”</p><p>“That’s your excuse for refusing the political union, but what about the other offers?” Blair’s hurt echoes through the tightening of his voice. “I know you marry for love. You have made that abundantly clear.”</p><p>“Yes,” is all she can manage. But it helps no one, not even herself. Almira takes a deep breath in. “You’re right, I know,” she says more certainly. “Now I would like to fix it. It is the only thing I am sure of these days.”</p><p>“Me, too,” Blair mumbles.</p><p>They sit there for a while, though it feels like a short time. Quietly, arms brushing but nothing more. In those moments, they are neither enemy nor lover. Simply, two people trying to survive the same torrent. Almira doesn’t return to bed for another hour when the sky is a lighter blue. Blair sits and reads in his chair until it is time for him to leave, which he does as quietly as a phantom.</p>
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